


Life That Could Have Been

by enthusio



Series: Coming of Age & Related Stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Consensual Underage Sex, Extremely Underage, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pseudo-Incest, Terminal Illnesses, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusio/pseuds/enthusio
Summary: A series of quick AUs of the AU for Coming of Age, exploring the different possibilities if James and Rosemary had met in different ways.  Inspired by a few off-hand lines in that story and likely entirely uninteresting if you haven’t read it first.
Relationships: Fabian Prewett/Original Character(s), James Potter/Original Character(s)
Series: Coming of Age & Related Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279283
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. A Tale of Two Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for the first of these (which won't be posted yet because it has spoilers) about six months ago and, like Coming of Age itself, it refused to leave my head. I wrote a quick one-shot to get the idea down and it worked so I've been do that with each idea since. So far there are two finished, two in progress, and a bunch more I'll get to the next time I'm stuck on the main story.
> 
> Tags are mostly for precaution, for the most part the one-shots go into little detail. They'll also be updated as things are posted, with the more explicit ones noted in the chapter notes.
> 
> (I have been debating moving all the one-shots to a separate series in case I decide to write the Harry-gen fic that's started to seep into my mind, or can't find any good way of bringing in a few necessary new perspectives without giving them their own side stories. So this may be moved at some point.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > “She died because of me?”
>> 
>> “No.” Noah lifted her chin, forcing her to see the intensity in his eyes. “You had no more control over being sick than she did over reacting to the anaesthesia. If you had been a few years older she might’ve been perfectly fine. It was tragic and terrible, but it was not your fault.”
>> 
>> Rosemary tucked herself into a tighter ball against Jamie. Maybe that was true, but the end result was the same. Sister dying, Tatty leaving, Mummy becoming a walking ghost, and Rosemary and Rebecca being taken to the orphanage. The only good thing that had come out of any of it was Jamie and, as happy as he made her, she wasn’t sure she could say that was worth an entire other person. 
> 
> What might have happened if Rosemary hadn’t had the bone marrow transplant for whatever reason.

James frowned as Rosalind jumped up and started shoving her way to the nearest train exit. He glanced out the window she’d been peering through, seeing nothing that could have caused her reaction — though that wasn’t saying much as the train hadn’t finished pulling into the station yet.

He caught up to her just as it did — unfortunate timing as it didn’t give him a chance to ask what was wrong. Instead he was forced to try following her through the mass of students and families crowding the platform. It wasn’t an easy task, if not for her shout he thought he probably would have had to call for Hatty to help find her.

“Mary!”

“Lindy!”

James shoved back whoever had walked into him when he stumbled to a stop. Rosalind was kneeling in front of a wheeled chair of some sort, clasping the hands of a girl who looked almost exactly like her. Only the way her eyes looked even bigger in her thin, sallow face and how her curls hung limp and dull on her head kept them from being perfectly identical.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick again?” Rosalind chided. “You said you were feeling better! I would’ve asked to come home if I knew.”

Her sister — because she could only be the twin Rosalind was always writing to — smiled, reaching out to pull Rosalind into a hug. “That’s why I asked Mum and Ta to wait. You can’t show me all the magic you’ve learnt if you’re not at school.”

She peered around Rosalind, missing the flicker of unease that passed across her face. James could guess why and was already signalling Father when she spotted him.

“Who’s this?” she asked, giving Rosalind a grin that promised teasing of the sort only a sister could get away with — James would know, he’d had two until recently.

Rosalind flushed slightly as she introduced him. It was a look that had drawn him in as he’d gotten to know her throughout the year, building to eventually inviting her to stay at Linfred for the summer. As he watched the same flush spread across her sister’s cheeks and combine with a slight shiver when he brushed his lips over the back of her hand — being careful to bow deeply rather than bringing her hand to him like lesser-bred wizards — he realised there were more differences between the two than just magic and health. This sister made James’ magic rise in him in a way he’d never experienced, reaching out to ease her chill.

He was blushing himself when he stood back, sending Hatty to bring him one of the charmed blankets from the castle and reaching out to stop Rosalind from wrapping her outer-robes around her sister.

“This will work better,” he said, pushing down the odd urge to tuck it securely around her himself. “It’s charmed to be as warm and soft as you like.”

Rosalind gave him a grateful glance as she fussed over her sister — Mary? It had sounded more like a nickname than a proper name, the way she’d called Rosalind ‘Lindy’. “I’ll bring it back in September,” she said, “I promise. Or you can send Ardeo if you need it before then, Mum and Ta set up a small owlery in the back garden.”

James shook his head. “Keep it, we’ve plenty of others. Hatty makes charmed jumpers and nightclothes too, I’ll send a parcel with Ardeo.” He glanced at Father for a moment before adding, “Or you can come visit. All of you. Linfred’s always comfortable and —”

Rosalind shook her head before he could add the many other features that made the castle one of the most envied ancestral homes in Europe. “I can’t,” she said, turning to face her parents with the same expression that had made James decide to never, ever try pranking her. “I’m going to help Mary get better.”

James watched as Rosalind’s sister hunched in on herself while her parents and Rosalind began an argument that sounded well-worn. He shifted, knowing that he should leave quietly, but not quite being able to bring himself to do it. Instead he looked up at Father.

“Can’t you do anything?” he asked as softly as he could. “Please?”

Father studied him for a long moment in which James did his best not to fidget. He wasn’t entirely sure why this was so important to him, he didn’t even know the girl’s proper name, but he knew the idea of her continuing to be so ill and upset made his magic agitated in a way it hadn’t been since he’d learnt why Wendy would be attending Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.

“I am not a Healer,” Father warned him. “The best I can do is offer the castle and access to my contacts with the Unspeakables.”

“Castle?” James turned to find Rosalind’s sister looking hopefully up at their parents. “I’ve never stayed in a real castle before.”

He grinned as he watched the Cohen parents exchange glances. The second sister he’d not paid much attention to could complain about whatever friend she’d made plans with all she liked. No one could resist the pleading of a sickly little girl. Especially not when she had such stunning eyes.

* * *

Pleading seemed to work well for Rosemary — as James discovered her proper name was through Hatty’s fussing when they arrived — and he could very easily see why. She didn’t use it often, easily agreeing to read or play games or go on picnics when her sisters suggested them. But when she did, looking up with big eyes that made it all too clear how painfully thin and small she was, it was impossible to deny her.

Which was how she came to be sitting in a courtyard off the Lady’s room in the heir suite that had appeared the day she moved in. Neither her parents nor Mother had been pleased by the arrangement, though James imagined for rather different reasons. Even Rosalind had looked uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a suite with James, despite his pointing out that it really wasn’t that different from sharing the Gryffindor common room.

Then Rosemary had seen the courtyard and the violin that had appeared by what would be her bed. She had looked at her parents with obvious longing and a quiet mention of how it was “such a lovely little courtyard.” And that night, James had kissed her hand again and watched Tessie pop her into bed before sleeping in the Heir’s bedroom outside his Heirship Day for the first time.

Now, he watched as she struggled to hold up her violin long enough to finish the piece she had been playing. Something wizarding, he was fairly sure. Rosemary had been fascinated by Mother’s collection of wizarding music, enough that Mother had convinced her parents to allow the Potters to hire her a proper tutor. It would have been brilliant, if not for the fact that it allowed James to more easily see how much more quickly she was tiring.

He stepped forward, casting a lightening charm on the violin so that she could finish. She’d have an Ollivander violin at Christmas. One made just for her.

“Healer Goldstein said he’s almost done with Rosalind,” James said when she’d set down the violin, “would you like help getting back in your chair?”

He watched as she grimaced and nodded. It was the same every time he’d come to assist her in getting to her daily checkups with Healer Goldstein. The castle refused to allow anyone other than James, Rosalind, and Rosemary into the heir wing and Healer Goldstein didn’t want Rosemary or Rosalind having excess magic cast on them, which meant James or Rosalind wheeling Rosemary wherever she wanted or needed to go.

Problem was, Rosemary hated her chair. No amount of cushioning charms or elf magic seemed to make it comfortable for her. James wasn’t sure anything could, with how thin she was.

“Or…” James hesitated even as he held out his arms, “I could carry you, if you like. It’s not very far and you’re light.”

Too light, really. Even lighter than James had expected when she’d blushed and nodded, biting her lip in a way that was thoroughly distracting. He held her close as he walked through the heir wing, taking extra care to not jostle her. She bruised so easily, at every touch it seemed, and the marks stood out on her fair skin far longer than James thought was healthy.

Of course, he reminded himself, she _wasn_ _’t_ healthy. That was why he was setting her gently down in front of the rooms Healer Goldstein had taken for his offices. Because she wasn’t healthy and Father had been right, there really was nothing he could do other than offer the castle and every resource available to the Potters.

James’ magic flared at the reminder — jumping even higher when Rosemary gasped and fell against him. He scooped her back into his arms, ordering the door to Healer Goldstein’s offices open and rushing in.

Then immediately spun back around, his cheeks flaming as he stuttered apologies. Why Rosalind had had her skirt hiked up above her waist he didn’t know, but her mum was keeping watch so it must be fine. James only wished he could stop wondering just how identical the twins were. He supposed that at least his and Rosalind’s embarrassment had made Rosemary giggle, bringing a hint of pink to her cheeks that made her look a little bit less sickly.

Healer Goldstein did little more than wave his wand around Rosemary and scribble something on his odd muggle board when James explained why he’d barged in so suddenly. He asked James to send for his parents and Mr Cohen, then ushered him and the twins out when they arrived. James wasn’t sure what was said, even the portraits refused to help him eavesdrop, but when they came out he was excused from all lessons and family meals he didn’t wish to attend and the wards keeping him and the twins out of each other’s rooms for more than a few moments at a time were lifted.

James found himself blushing again at that. Mr and Mrs Cohen might not understand the implication, he wasn’t sure how much Healer Goldstein had explained about wizarding customs, but to James the message was clear: he’d brought a muggleborn home for the summer and he was now free to enjoy his time with her however they both liked.

He kissed Rosalind’s hand before she went to bed that night, as he had every night for months starting back when they were still at school. She always retired earlier than Rosemary, who usually slept later and napped often throughout the day. She would give Rosemary a hug and allow James to kiss her hand — always with a blush, despite how regular an occurrence it was — and then, when she had gone into her room, James would spend an hour or so pretending to read while resisting the urge to tuck Rosemary into his side.

Tonight Rosemary changed the routine, looking up from her book when he settled across from her on the sofa, trying to find a balance between being close enough to appease his magic and so close that she became uncomfortable.

“I can stay by myself,” she said quietly, “if you and Lindy want to…be alone.”

James froze for a beat before picking up his book from the side table and opening it to where he’d left off. “Watching someone sleep doesn’t sound very fun. I’d just keep trying to talk to her and then she’d shout at me.”

She would, he knew because he’d accidentally kept her up discussing transfiguration theory one night. He hadn’t even noticed she’d been half-asleep for over an hour, unaccustomed to having someone who could keep up with him in the subject. Then she’d clamped her hand over his mouth and told him that if he didn’t let her go to sleep she was going to find a way to hex him so badly he’d be in the hospital wing for the rest of the term. It had been when James decided to ask her to spend the summer with him.

Rosemary cut him off before he could tell the story, setting aside her book and rising shakily to her feet.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, brushing off James’ attempt to assist her. “You should go in. Lindy’s fancied you for ages, you’ll probably only have to explain.”

James was too busy ensuring she didn’t injure herself getting into her chair to register her words for a moment. When he did, she’d already started wheeling herself to her room.

“ _Wait_ ,” James darted in front of her chair, kneeling so he wasn’t towering over her, “how do you know about that?”

Rosemary rolled her eyes. “You haven’t a telly and I can’t swim or go riding like Becca and Lindy. Tessie brings me books to read.”

James blinked down at the cover of the book in her lap. One of the Potter training books, for wizards heading off to their first year at Hogwarts. He’d known she’d spent most of her waking hours reading, but he’d assumed it had been fairy tales or other stories. Not the books he still put off reading until the risk of angering Father was too high.

“Go,” she said, gently pushing on his chest. “I can get to bed myself.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He wheeled her into her room and helped her into bed, as he had been doing for the past few nights when she’d begun to be unsteady on her feet as the day wore on. Rosalind could do it just as easily, but Rosemary fretted about waking her and James’ magic behaved better when he had something useful to do.

He began to straighten after tucking her in, planning to kiss her hand as he always did before changing his mind at the last minute.

“What if I don’t want to follow the traditions,” he asked, sitting in the chair beside her bed.

Rosemary tilted her head before shifting onto her side with a slight wince. James made a note to ask Tessie to increase the softness of her bed.

“Why did you ask Lindy to come then?”

There wasn’t an answer for that James could manage to make sense to himself, let alone anyone else. He _had_ invited Rosalind to Linfred with the expectation of having her in his bed any time Mother wasn’t helping her learn how witches were expected to behave. Except that she’d said she didn’t want to spend that long away from her sister and James had decided against trying to invite anyone else. He’d planned on meeting her family, introducing her parents to Mother, and seeing if he couldn’t convince her to spend at least part of the summer with him.

Then she and Rosemary had moved into his rooms. He’d spent days and weeks showing them the castle and grounds. Introduced Rosemary to his ancestors’ portraits on the rare occasion she managed to convince Rosalind to do something she couldn’t join. Went on short rides with Rosalind when Rosemary insisted they not stay cooped up on her account. Until traditions and taking Rosalind to his bed had entirely slipped his mind.

“Jamie,” Rosemary gave him a soft smile before kissing his cheek, surprising him enough to forget the pet name. “Go. Lindy will be asleep if you wait much longer.”

She was probably right, but James still hesitated. Something about the idea of leaving this room felt…off.

“Are you sure?” he asked, just to put it off a few more moments.

Rosemary waved him away, pulling the blankets up further around her. “It’ll make Lindy really happy.”

There was a part of James that wanted to ask if it would make _Rosemary_ happy, before he pushed the thought away. Of course it would. Both sisters seemed to enjoy nothing more than seeing the other happy. James nodded, kissing Rosemary’s forehead before forcing himself to leave. He made sure to cast a strong one-way silencing charm around her room before he left.

* * *

Rosalind wasn’t asleep when James cautiously peeked into her room. Didn’t seem even close, in fact. She was sitting up in her bed with a book on her lap. A book with the distinct illustrations and gilded edging of a Potter training book and James found himself wondering if there was some sort of plot amongst the house elves to ensure he did his duty as the Potter heir.

“Is Mary ok?” she asked, immediately setting aside her book.

James nodded as he slipped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. “She wanted to go to bed early. She…er…” He rubbed at his hair, trying to think of what to say. It was strange, knowing that Rosemary was a room away, fully aware of what he was doing. “How much of that book have you read?”

Rosalind blushed. “Enough, I guess. Is that…you didn’t _make_ Mary go to bed early, did you?”

“Of course not!” James crossed his arms, scowling at the very thought. “It was her idea, she read the books too.”

“Oh.” Rosalind traced along the cover of her book instead of looking at him. “Then…how does…I mean…”

James hesitantly sat on the edge of Rosalind’s bed. Smaller than his or Rosemary’s, he noted absently. He wasn’t entirely sure how it worked either, not with muggleborn witches who already knew the traditions. Did he just kiss her? Push her back onto the bed? It seemed a bit impolite, not to mention awkward. Somehow it never seemed this complicated with pureblood witches.

Of course, James had rarely been with pureblood witches who hadn’t come to him. And he’d never been with a muggleborn without weeks of careful touches and building anticipation. Something he’d started with Rosalind before getting distracted.

He leaned in slowly, brushing back her hair and giving her plenty of time to move away. Her curls were thicker and more lustrous than her sister’s, quickly tangling in his fingers so that he didn’t dare try moving his hand for fear of hurting her. She had soft, plump lips, so different from the chapped skin on Rosemary’s that James constantly wanted to moisten with his tongue.

He tried to push that thought from his mind as he lowered Rosalind onto the bed. She moved easily with him, even if he found himself thinking that it didn’t feel quite right. None of the witches he’d been with had been perfect. He suspected that was just how things worked. Rosalind was…pleasant, at least, humming against his lips when he pulled her hips to align with his.

James rubbed himself against her as he trailed kisses down her neck and tried to find out what she enjoyed. It was easier with his eyes closed — it always was — even if it also meant he sometimes ended up with a mouthful of hair. He let himself fall into the sensations, using the hums and gasps to guide him.

She was warm beneath him, even through their nightclothes. Warm and soft and, if not perfect, at least closer than other witches. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him back to her mouth instead of toward her breast where he’d been headed.

“Rosemary,” he breathed, nuzzling against her for a moment before freezing.

James eyes flew open as he scrambled off the bed and began babbling apologies. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that calling a girl by her sister’s name when you were minutes away from slipping off her nightdress was bad. Very, _very_ bad.

“Oh good,” Rosalind sighed, startling James out of his ramblings. “If it was supposed to feel that strange I don’t think I’d want to do it.”

James could only stare. He’d expected to get hexed, not to have Rosalind giving him a silly smile as he tried to think of what he was supposed to do next. Though he supposed he was grateful to not have to ask Linfred to suppress her magic. And that he’d never gotten past a bit of petting.

Except…James frowned as his brain slowly began to function properly again.

“Oi!” He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping he didn’t look too much like he was sulking. “Lots of witches think I’m good at that, you know.”

Rosalind laughed as she hopped out of her bed and pushed him toward the door. “Good, go show Mary. Tell her I said you’re not clever enough for me, silly goose will probably pretend she doesn’t fancy you if you don’t. And James?”

James glanced over his shoulder more at the shift in the castle’s magic than Rosalind’s tone. Magic didn’t just change like that for nothing. Especially not Linfred’s magic, which had been protecting and assisting the family for centuries.

“That wasn’t the only book I’ve read,” she said, taking a breath before continuing. “If you hurt Rosemary, I’ll find a way to make sure you’re the last Potter ever.”

The magic shifting made sense this time. James forced himself to swallow as he felt the vow take hold. Father hadn’t prepared him for this, not in any sort of detail. It wasn’t something he was supposed to have to worry about until he was out of Hogwarts.

“I won’t hurt her on purpose,” he promised, because he had to say something. It was on the tip of his tongue to add that he’d try not to hurt her by accident either, but vows were tricky. There was no telling what magic might consider ‘trying’.

Rosalind looked him over for a moment before nodding and allowing the magic to dissipate. “Go on,” she said, “it’s getting late and Mary needs her sleep.”

James nodded, grinning and giving Rosalind a hug before leaving. This was going to be brilliant. He could feel it in his magic as he reached the Lady’s —

The Lady’s room. In the heir suite. Where Rosemary had been staying since she arrived at Linfred. Linfred, which had made her her own courtyard and given her a violin. James found himself laughing as he made a quick stop in his study. Merlin, he was an idiot. No wonder Father hadn’t said a word about Hatty’s room choices. At least he didn’t have to worry about being disowned for marrying a muggle.

He nearly skipped to Rosemary’s room, knocking once before peeking his head around the door — and immediately rushing in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping away the tears she wasn’t quick enough to hide. It wasn’t like Rosemary to cry, at least not that he was aware of. She’d been nothing but smiles since he’d met her. Smiles and laughter and quiet humming that made him wonder how lovely it must be to hear her sing.

Rosemary shook her head as she scrubbed at her face. “Nothing,” she said, nearly managing to keep her voice from wobbling, “I’m fine. I was reading a sad book, is all. Why aren’t you with Lindy?”

James wordlessly picked up the book of pureblood courting traditions that was lying next to her on the bed. It was a dreadfully dull book, but he’d hardly say it was bad enough to cause tears.

He watched as Rosemary’s breath hitched before she collapsed against him, her tears soaking his nightshirt.

“I don’t want to die,” she mumbled — and James’ magic flew out to wrap around her at the idea.

“You are _not_ dying,” he said, pulling her closer against him and slipping them both under the blankets.

She wasn’t. It wasn’t possible. He’d just sent off for a platinum courtship necklace and no Potter intended had ever died before getting married. His would not be the first. He wouldn’t allow it. Not when he had gold and magic and, according to Father, enough sheer bloody-mindedness for a dozen Potters. He’d find a way even if it meant selling Linfred itself.

“I am,” Rosemary said, no longer trying to hide the way her voice broke. “The medicine stopped working months ago, that’s why Mum and Ta don’t mind us staying here. I thought…it doesn’t sound so bad. I won’t hurt anymore and Mum and Ta will stop fighting and Becca can see her friends and Lindy can stop worrying —”

“Stop it.” James pressed a kiss to Rosemary’s forehead in the hopes of making up for the sharp tone he couldn’t help. “You’re not dying, that’s why Father hired Healer Goldstein. He’s going to find a way to make you better.”

“What if he can’t?”

“Then we’ll hire more Healers. Better ones.”

James hesitated for a moment before deciding some things were more important than propriety.

“I asked Father to commission a platinum courtship necklace,” he said, pushing away the thoughts of how Mother would react when she found out this was how he asked Rosemary to court. “A proper one, with the Potter insignia.”

Rosemary shifted to look at him, frowning slightly. “For Lindy? You weren’t even in there that long!”

“Because she wasn’t the right twin,” James said, brushing Rosemary’s hair back in the hopes the contact would help keep him from holding her tighter than she might be comfortable with. “We didn’t…she said to tell you I’m not clever enough for her.”

He watched as the surprised blush spread across Rosemary’s face. She looked like a pale, emaciated version of her sister, with none of Rosalind’s obvious health and fire. James still thought she was the more beautiful twin. Especially when she murmured a quiet ‘ _oh!_ ’ before pulling him closer when he kissed her.

“Stop talking about dying,” James said softly as he pulled away. “You’re going to be Lady Potter-Cohen soon, if you’ll have me. And no one protects their family like a Potter.”

* * *

James carefully eased Rosemary onto the bed when she fell asleep between gentle kisses a short time later. He’d join her again in a moment, having her in his arms was far too nice to miss out on, but first he had to do a few things.

Three things, really. He had to send a note to Father, informing him of Rosemary’s expected agreement and asking him to please ensure the ritual could be done as soon as Healer Goldstein said she was well enough. Another to Mother, so that she could ensure the Cohens understood that magical traditions were different than muggle ones — and hopefully convince them to allow Rosemary to be fostered because James couldn’t imagine only being able to see her over holidays.

And one to Healer Goldstein, along with every book on Potter family magic Hatty could find. James hadn’t been joking when he’d told Rosemary about Potter protectiveness. There was nothing more important to Potters than family. He only hoped that Healer Goldstein would be able to find something in the family magic that would be able to help, now that Rosemary would be part of it too.

James slipped back into bed when he was done, curling carefully around Rosemary. It felt right, sleeping like this. Like it was something they should have been doing all along. He contented himself with the reminder that he’d not have to keep himself from sitting too close to her again. Not now that she was all but officially his intended. He could cuddle and kiss her all he liked. He fully planned on making the most of it.


	2. Lions and Sisters and Dreams, Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If James had a time-turner, he’d go back and make Father bring her here before she’d ever known there was such a place as an orphanage.”
> 
> The first of what will probably be several variations on what might have happened if James and Rosemary had met before his coming of age. The tone and title don’t at all match and for that I apologise, but nothing else I could think of fit.
> 
> Warnings for this one shot: underage sex comparable to the main fic, minor character deaths, and some slight angst. It's also 18k so set aside some time if you want to read it all in one sitting. I've added a series of asterisks to mark a reasonably good stopping place around mid-way through since it's so much longer than expected.

Fleamont woke to a sobbing son and fretful elf, Hatty tugging on her ears as James cried into his nightshirt. He exchanged a glance with Euphemia. This was the fourth time in a week James had woken with nightmares troubling enough to accidentally apparate himself out of the nursery. Unfortunately, he never seemed to remember what they had been about, only sniffling about needing to get “her”. Who ‘her’ referred to, none of them had been able to determine. Fleamont had nearly made up his mind to send for a specialist Healer.

“She’s sick,” James mumbled, looking up at his parents with tear-stained cheeks. “Please, Father, you _have_ to go get her.”

Fleamont sighed as he sat up. It was more information than James had given them before, but still not nearly enough. He handed James to his mother before summoning the list of trusted Healers. Perhaps one of them would be able to help.

“It was only a dream, darling,” Euphemia said soothingly as he sorted through the list. “How would you like some cocoa? I believe Hatty finished a tray of biscuits after you went to bed.”

James shook his head, his magic crackling around him as he shoved himself away. “It _wasn_ _’t_ a dream, she’s sick and you have to go get her! _Please_ , something bad is going to happen if you don’t.”

“Who is sick, one of your friends?”

“No, _her_. My _wife_.”

Fleamont looked up at that. It was rare, but a handful of Potters had had dreams about the witches they would one day marry. All of them had involved girls the boys might not have met otherwise and all had been uniquely compatible. Fleamont summoned a set of work robes. He didn’t dare use legillimancy when James was so upset, but there was a potion that might help him remember the dreams.

“Send for Healer Burke,” he told Euphemia, “I will need a list of any necessary modifications to the memory enhancing draught for boys James’ age.”

* * *

It took the better part of a week for Fleamont to understand enough of James’ dreams to begin looking for the girl. Another week for him to narrow down the possible locations. A third to find a muggleborn who could help him navigate a world he’d spent little time in. By the time Fleamont discovered that there were _two_ girls, over six weeks had passed. Each bringing with it an increase in James’ nightmares.

Unfortunately, there was still one problem. One he attempted to explain to James, with little success.

“They have parents,” he said gently. “Good, kind parents who they appear to love very much. Do Potters take little girls from their parents?”

James’ sniffle was the only response he received.

When the nightmares continued for another week, Fleamont decided to take him to see the girls — under the invisibility cloak, of course. They both appeared perfectly healthy, babbling and playing together the way the Prewett twins had when they were a bit younger. One was obviously magical, floating toys and biscuits to her sister when no one was watching. He busied himself as James watched with trying to find a way of telling the girls’ parents to gently encourage more confidence and independence in the one still hesitant in her magic. It was a common problem with magical twins, one that muggleborns were often put at disadvantage by because their parents didn’t know to watch out for it.

It was during that visit that Fleamont first noticed something troubling.

It was nothing, really. A bit of a bloody nose, the sort of thing that was simply part of childhood. Fleamont had become quite proficient at the charm to stop them until Healer Burke suggested adjusting the humidity in the nursery.

Only this particular bloody nose continued for longer than Fleamont would have expected. At first, he simply assumed it was due to lack of magic. Then, when several minutes had passed with little effect, an unusually difficult one to treat. There had been a few of those in the course of James’ childhood, times when Fleamont had had to cast the charm two or three times to fully stop the bleeding. It was when the girls’ parents began to look concerned that Fleamont found himself worrying. He carefully aimed his wand between them, relaxing slightly when the charm appeared to work. Not perfectly, it had to be cast more times than Fleamont had ever needed with James, but they were a fair distance away and charms had never been his best subject.

He still decided to look into whether or not there were Healers who worked in both the muggle and magical worlds after he’d gotten James back home. Especially when the nightmares only grew worse.

* * *

Healer Al-Najjar was an imposing woman, despite being no more than five feet tall. She reviewed James and Fleamont’s memories of the nightmares and careful visits to watch the girls with an air of quiet authority that had Fleamont biting down his instinct to add explanation or commentary. Something that was all the more impressive when he remembered that she was far younger than expected, already one of the most accomplished Healers in Europe in only her mid-30s.

She was also somewhat brusque, telling Fleamont that she would secure herself a position as the twins’ new muggle Healer and flooing away without another word. If not for the detailed letter he received an hour or so later — with instructions for a potion that would allow James to sleep more easily without removing whatever connection it was he had with the girls — he might have wondered if he’d made the right choice in going outside the list of Healers who had traditionally worked with the Potter family.

Not that it had been much of a choice. Healer Al-Najjar was one of only a handful in the magical world who worked with muggles. Only two in Europe and Fleamont had not been impressed with the other. Brusque was preferable to the fawning Slughorns encouraged in those they patronised.

For a time, life continued almost as normal. James still had nightmares, but was able to sleep through them and put away the memories for Dr Al-Najjar when he woke. Fleamont managed the estate and brewed as Healer Al-Najjar requested. Euphemia attended to her social gatherings, arranging contracts and gathering useful information, and only once mentioned that it would be nice to have little girls in the castle.

Then James’ nightmares worsened again, just before Fleamont received an owl requesting he meet with Healer Al-Najjar at his earliest convenience.

* * *

“It is not something I can fix,” Healer Al-Najjar said apologetically.

Fleamont stared down at the charts and notes in his hands. He had never trained as a Healer, but potions required enough understanding for him to be able to read them. Enough to know that what Healer Al-Najjar was saying made no sense. He had seen charts like these before, as an apprentice. Had watched as the Master he had apprenticed to brewed the necessary potion for her son. It was a complex potion, somewhat rare as Healers usually caught the problem before it grew this bad, and the ingredients included some of the most expensive in the world, but Fleamont was a Potter and a respected Potions Master. He was more than capable of brewing any potion short of the Elixir of Life — and he would find a way to procure that as well, if his son’s future wife was in need of it.

Future wife or future sister-in-law, but Fleamont would be surprised if this wasn’t the twin James had been dreaming about. Connections strong enough to result in warning dreams were nearly always between spouses or parents and their children.

Healer Al-Najjar hesitated for a moment when Fleamont said as much. Hesitated in a way that made Fleamont immediately wary simply because it was such a sudden shift from her usual demeanour. Then she slid another stack of parchment toward him. A stack similar to the one he and Euphemia were given after each of James’ check-ups.

There were the usual notes for inoculations and growth. Hearing, vision, physical development. A wide variety of things Fleamont understood only parts of, but trusted Healer Burke to ensure were as they should be. And the chart every magical parent worried over, particularly with their heirs, that showed the development of a child’s magic.

Fleamont stared at it for several minutes before accepting what he was seeing.

“Her sister is magical,” he said, looking up at Healer Al-Najjar, “I am certain of it. She summoned a toy from a shelf as easily as if she had a wand.”

Healer Al-Najjar’s expression was sympathetic as she looked at him. “I know. That is precisely the problem. If the twins were both muggles or both witches, I would be able to develop a treatment. However, the muggle method of healing one twin would all but guarantee the death of the other. It is not an option I can give their parents, not knowing what the outcome would be.”

No, it certainly was not. Fleamont was no stranger to sacrifice, the Potter magic being what it was, but there were some sacrifices too large to consider. He went through the parchments again, working through what he could understand and making note of what he couldn’t.

“I will need recommendations for a tutor who can explain to me the theory behind the muggle treatment. You will have a list of trusted contacts amongst the Unspeakables by the end of the day, select whomever you like to assist you in treating the girls.”

Fleamont stood, tucking the parchments into his cloak for further study. There was, perhaps, not a standard treatment as there would be for a witch, but he had developed more than a few potions and spells for both sale and the Ministry. Between himself, Healer Al-Najjar, and the Unspeakables, they would be able to find something.

He paused when he reached the door. There was a question he was unsure he wanted the answer to, but felt he should ask. Knew he should ask, to ensure he was using his time wisely. Knowing did not make the task easier.

“A year, at most,” Healer Al-Najjar said before Fleamont could find a way of wording the question. “Less than that before muggle treatment becomes too great a risk.”

Fleamont nodded. He would begin his research with a way of halting the progression then, give them all some time to find something better. It was at least a place to start.

* * *

Life did not return to normal after that. James’ nightmares worsened to the point that Fleamont began to fear they would have to bind his magic at night. Nothing soothed them, not potions or spells or the variety of teas imbued with elf magic Hatty took to him. Fleamont moved him to the heir wing nursery in the hopes that the stronger wards would at least reduce the risk of him injuring himself.

Euphemia continued her teas and parties, but with a new set of goals. Within a month, Fleamont had opened one of the empty wings of the castle to house their new team of talented muggleborns who had decided to pursue both muggle and magical educations. He understood little of what they worked on with Dr Al-Najjar and the Unspeakables, even with extensive daily tutoring, but it was enough to help guide his own research and allow him to brew whatever they asked.

Fleamont himself was rarely found outside his lab or the connecting rooms he’d designated for tutoring and research. Only when Dr Al-Najjar suggested that it might help James to see the girls regularly did he begin spending time away from the castle — and then only for the hour or so a day he and James sat in a muggle park, feeding ducks while the girls played with their parents and sister.

The weeks wore on, faster than Fleamont would have liked. For the first time, he found himself wondering if he was up to a task. None of the ideas Dr Al-Najjar deemed worth trying appeared to do anything. There was no improvement, no plateau, not even a slowing of the illness. Only a steady decline that Fleamont began to dread watching when he took James to the park.

He asked Euphemia to take on that task when they entered the fifth month. Seven hours a week was seven more hours in which to find _something_ that helped, even a little.

At the end of the sixth month, Fleamont found himself staring down at another stack of parchment. This time with a rising hope he didn’t dare trust until Dr Al-Najjar had confirmed it.

“It’s not a cure,” she warned. “She is still weak and I can’t guarantee the spell will hold or work with repeated castings.”

Fleamont listened to the healer’s warnings while running through the spell theory in his mind. It was not a cure, but it was something. Something that had gained them another year or two, maybe more if they were lucky. He called for the Potter books on twin bonds after he left Dr Al-Najjar. Now that there was a little more time, he could begin to research the areas he’d not dared under such limited time constraints.

* * *

A year and a half later, Fleamont found himself staring at Dr Al-Najjar’s new apprentice. The boy was an Unspeakable with more glowing letters of recommendation than Fleamont had ever seen, but he was still just that: a boy. Not yet twenty-one and still in the earliest stages of his apprenticeship with Dr Al-Najjar. That Fleamont was expected to risk his future daughter-in-law’s life on the theory of a boy barely out of Hogwarts was ludicrous.

“Unspeakable Goldstein is one of the most promising magical theorists in the world,” Healer Al-Najjar insisted. “I would not have accepted him as an apprentice if he were anything less.”

No, she likely would not have. Healer Al-Najjar was notorious for refusing to take on apprentices. She refused to even work with the apprentices of the team Fleamont and Euphemia had gathered, insisting she lacked the ability to sufficiently simplify her theories and instructions. If Healer Goldstein had impressed her, it was because he was as gifted as she had been at the same age.

None of that meant that Fleamont agreed with his suggestion.

“They have a family,” he said, as he had said to James not so long ago. “I will not take happy, well-cared for children from loving parents. Find another way.”

Unspeakable Goldstein gave him a flat look. “You’ve had some of the most brilliant minds available trying to find another way for two years now and only managed a modified stasis spell that could fail at any minute. There is no other way. If there were, James wouldn’t still be having nightmares.”

Fleamont watched Healer Al-Najjar and Unspeakable Goldstein for a moment before dropping his head into his hands to massage his temples. That was what he had been trying to avoid acknowledging from the start. Bonds strong enough for warning dreams did not form without a reason, certainly not between children who had never met. He had only hoped that the reason would be the need for magical healers or gold from the Potter vaults. Not tearing children away from their family.

He went into James’ room that night, watching his son sleep as he tried to decide what to do. Healer Al-Najjar was of the opinion that the charm would fail within the year, followed by a quick decline. Lifting the charm would result in the same, though more quickly. James’ nightmares would worsen until the end, then stop when there was no longer anyone to save.

And his son would be without a girl so well-suited his magic reached for her before he’d known she existed. He would find someone else, possibly even her sister, once they were both at Hogwarts, but there would always be a part of his magic that refused to acknowledge a new bond. It was not a life Fleamont wanted for James.

He looked up as Euphemia entered the room, expanding the chair he was sitting on to form a sofa.

“They have parents.”

He felt Euphemia’s nod against his shoulder as she leaned against him. It was not nearly long enough ago that they had lost yet another child. It still was not long enough ago that they’d lost the first, decades before James was born. Fleamont could not bring himself to be the reason another parent lost their child, not even for his son. Not without being haunted by the rows of memorial plaques and too small graves in the family cemetery and mausoleums.

There were memory charms, of course. The Potters were not one of the families that used them for every little thing, but he had cast enough over the course of his time as Duke to qualify as a volunteer obliviator, as was usual for the heads of the titled families. Abraxans escaped their enclosures, muggles accidentally wandered onto the grounds, all the usual troubles of overseeing a magical estate. He could easily erase any memories the girls’ parents had of them. With the help of a few private obliviators, he could make it seem as though they had never existed in the muggle world.

What he could not do was sever the bond between parent and child. The girls’ parents would always feel as though they were missing something. They would grieve without knowing why. It was why Potters had always so disapproved of families who simply stole away muggles for their childrens’ coming of age gifts. Some things were too powerful for even magic to change.

James whimpered then, tossing in his sleep while mumbling words Fleamont couldn’t make out. It was while watching his son sob through a nightmare the potions could ease, but not remove entirely, that he made up his mind. James would have his wife. Fleamont simply had to determine how.

* * *

It was not common for muggleborns to be informed of their abilities before receiving their Hogwarts letter. Some families, like the Potters and McKinnons, took it upon themselves to quietly educate the muggleborns in the villages near their ancestral homes, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Telling muggles of their magical daughter before she was old enough for even a governess was certainly not done.

Fleamont pestered the Ministry until he obtained permission anyway. He could not take children from loving parents, but he could attempt to explain and allow them to make their own choice.

He did not like to think of what might have to happen if that choice was not one he could accept. Was actively not thinking of it, in fact, as he waited for Healer Al-Najjar to finish explaining why he was there.

Mr Cohen was the first to recover from his shock, ignoring Fleamont completely as he addressed Healer Al-Najjar.

“You mean to tell me that my options are to either choose which of my daughters I want to live or send them both off to live with a complete stranger?” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat back. “No. There has to be something else. You say you have magic, use it to find a way for me to keep _both_ of my girls.”

“We have.” Fleamont allowed the years of worry and exhaustion to show on his face in the hopes of swaying the Cohens. “Warning dreams are not something magical parents take lightly, I have used every resource at my disposal to prevent my son’s from the moment I understood what they were.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Over two years.”

Fleamont waited for that information to register in the Cohens’ minds. James had been younger than the twins were now when the nightmares had started. He hadn’t slept properly since. Not so much as a nap without potions or nightmares or both.

“You knew before we did,” Mrs Cohen said, watching Fleamont with an expression that was oddly similar to several of Euphemia’s. “You hired Dr Al-Najjar, that’s why Dr Smith-Baker retired so suddenly.”

She turned to her husband when Fleamont acknowledged that yes, he was the reason for Healer Al-Najjar’s presence — and refused to be the least bit apologetic or ashamed of it.

“No one else had any ideas,” she said softly. “Dr Al-Najjar was the only one who didn’t tell us to take her home. If she thinks this is our only option, we have to at least consider it.”

Mr Cohen continued to glower for a moment before slumping as though he no longer had the energy to support himself. Fleamont looked away when he closed his eyes and reached blindly for his wife, turning back only when he began to speak.

“I suppose we should go check on them, then. See if they even get along.”

* * *

They did get along, of course. Fleamont had entered the room where Euphemia and Unspeakable Goldstein had been watching the children to find James and Rosemary curled up together on a sofa, fast asleep. It had been the first time Fleamont could remember seeing his son sleeping peacefully since the nightmares began.

Now, a bit over a year later, proper sleep was once again a regular part of James’ life. It had taken all of three nights to convince Euphemia that propriety was not worth the fitful tossing he was subjected to when Rosemary was not tucked into bed with him. She and Rosalind had both been moved to James’ suite in the nursery, Rosalind in a second bedroom that had appeared the day they’d arrived at the castle. Every morning after that had seen Rosemary wrapped securely in James’ arms when Hatty went to wake them.

The girls were sent to their parents after breakfast, Fleamont having arranged for the family to live in the village. James had lessons, then joined them in the afternoon. All three were brought back to the castle shortly after Rebecca arrived home from school, an extra team of elves accompanying them when they explored the grounds to ensure Rosemary was as safe as possible. Once a week there were visits with Healer Al-Najjar and Unspeakable Goldstein and on Fridays both families moved to the second home in Hogsmeade Fleamont had bought to allay the Cohens’ concern about the lack of synagogue near Linfred.

It was a peaceful routine. One Fleamont took special care to appreciate, knowing that it would not last forever. He hadn’t appreciated the time before James began lessons with his tutor enough, not until he could no longer arrange a surprise quidditch outing without considering how it would impact James’ studies. That James had developed new focus when it was explained to him that he could not join the twins at the Cohens until his lessons were finished for the day was another reason to be thankful their parents had agreed to see how Rosemary responded to magic.

On that front, the results were both better and worse than Fleamont had been hoping. Her condition had improved since arriving at Linfred, but worsened each time they had tried to remove her from both the castle and James for more than a few hours. It was part of why James was sent to the Cohens every day and Mrs Cohen brought the girls back from the Hogsmeade synagogue for lunch rather than staying most of the day as other families did. It seemed that she needed some combination of Linfred, James, and Rosalind’s magic to keep her steady. James could be away from Linfred for a day (though he’d thrown a large enough tantrum to not stay with the Prewetts overnight as had been planned), Rosalind could spend a weekend with the Cohens, both could accompany Rosemary away from the castle, but remove two of the three and she’d be unusually tired or develop bruises from seemingly nothing at all. It was something only Unspeakable Goldstein appeared to have a theory about and even that much was based on Fleamont’s trust of Euphemia’s judgement.

Which was part of why he was sitting in his study, reviewing the many possible repercussions of repeated use of a time turner. The twins’ birthday was fast approaching and while he had full faith in Euphemia’s ability to ensure it was celebrated as lavishly as possible, he was unsure about how to explain to the Cohens what it would bring. They had agreed to governesses instead of the village school to ensure Rosemary stayed as healthy she could be, but Fleamont doubted they understood quite what the lessons would include.

He still wasn’t entirely convinced it might not be better to change the traditional Potter lessons. James would not be given girls for his coming of age or experiment with the witches at Hogwarts in any case and he strongly doubted the Cohens would allow any of the traditions for Rosalind, no matter that she would be attending Hogwarts as a fostered Potter. At the very least, some of the more specific lessons could be put off until the girls were closer to what muggles deemed appropriate ages.

Trouble was, so many of the Potter lessons on history and etiquette were based around an understanding of pureblood tradition that he couldn’t begin to think of how to try adapting them. The stories of Marc and Susan were the most troublesome — which in itself was worrying as Fleamont had hopes that they would help James and Rosemary feel more secure about their place in Potter history — but they were hardly the only ones. Nearly every story of a Potter ancestor’s childhood involved at least a reference to one of their girls. Even more included details of courtships that had begun at least a year or two before muggles would consider acceptable.

And that, of course, was another problem. One that Fleamont felt he should begin preparing the Cohens for sooner rather than later. James would almost certainly wish to begin courting the moment he and Rosemary were old enough. His magic would allow nothing less with how strong the bond between them already was. There had been little discussion of what that bond meant for them since the first meeting with the Cohens, Fleamont not wanting to upset the delicate balance they had found. Mr Cohen, especially, was already concerned about the separation anxiety the children experienced as a result of their bond. Fleamont had found no way of explaining the magic involved without worrying him further, particularly not when Unspeakable Goldstein had confirmed that it was partially a consequence of Rosemary’s delicate health.

He looked up at the sound of an elf popping in, fumbling for his wand in a way he hadn’t since he was a boy when Hatty popped him away without a word. It was unfortunate, sometimes, that elves lived so much longer than wizards. Hatty had been his own nanny elf, his father’s before him, and would likely raise at least another two generations of Potters before she was ready to join the older elves in the parts of the castle set aside for them. Fleamont could no more consider her a threat than he could James or Euphemia, despite knowing that nothing good came of an elf moving wizards about without so much as a warning.

He reconsidered that when he saw the state of the room in the Cohens’ house that had been designated as a playroom for the children. James’ magic was raging about him, lashing out at everything as he kicked at the elves trying to soothe him. Rosalind’s was only slightly more controlled, flaring without harming her mother even as she struggled in her grasp.

But it was Rosemary who worried him most. Rosemary who was being tightly restrained by her father. Why was immediately obvious, she could not be allowed to go to James the way she clearly wanted his magic was so wild, but it took all of Fleamont’s own control to keep from summoning her to his side when he saw how hard her father was gripping her. He would never tolerate such rough handling from anyone else, not when she was still fragile enough to not be allowed the riding lessons she desperately wanted.

Rosalind seemed to agree, her magic flaring brightly enough to force her mother to let her go with a pained gasp before she ran over to her father and bit his hand. Rosemary ran to James the moment she was free, quick enough that Fleamont was only just able to get a gentle hold on her before she reached him.

“Let go!”

Rosemary squirmed so that Fleamont was forced to cast a light restraining charm. He knelt, carefully turning her around to face him while keeping an eye on James to ensure his magic wasn’t yet so wild as to be dangerous to himself. A glance at Hatty had her popping back out, hopefully to return with Unspeakable Goldstein and Healer Al-Najjar. He trusted the other elves would see to Rosalind and the rest of the Cohens now that Rosemary was accounted for.

“It’s not safe right now,” he said soothingly, hoping James could hear him over the roar of his magic. “Magic is dangerous, remember? James might hurt you by accident.”

As expected, James’ magic fell back into him immediately after that. Fleamont breathed a sigh of relief as he let Rosemary run and cuddle onto James’ lap.

His relief was short-lived, only long enough for him to see that she also pecked James’ lips and pushed her hands under the muggle shirt he wore, James slipping his own hands up the back of her shirt in response. Fleamont expected he knew then what had caused the situation to begin with, and it was something he’d been hoping wouldn’t become a problem for several more years. The children’s bond appeared to be developing more quickly than anticipated.

Healer Al-Najjar and Unspeakable Goldstein agreed, though neither seemed worried by it. Even Fleamont’s concern that it was an indication of Rosemary’s health was brushed off as unlikely, though the lack of progress in completely curing her was impacting how the strength of the bond manifested. Both assured him that it was simply the nature of magic strong enough to result in warning dreams — Healer Al-Najjar with a suggestion to have a full platinum courtship set ready when James was of proper age to consider it. James, not Rosemary, because both Healer Al-Najjar and Unspeakable Goldstein were of the opinion that having the set would help settle James’ magic for the years he would have to wait to present it.

None of which eased the Cohens’ concerns. Only increased them, in fact. Fleamont watched James and Rosemary out of the corners of his eyes as Healer Al-Najjar attempted to explain why a strong bond was one of the best things they could hope for for Rosemary’s eventual recovery.

They were subdued, as was to be expected. Rosemary refused to be moved from James’ side, shaking her head when Rosalind offered her a doll. James, for his part, scowled at anyone who looked like they might protest the way he had his arms clasped tightly around her. It was something Fleamont made a note to speak with him about later. A protective bond was to be expected between the Potter magic and how Rosemary had been introduced to him, but a possessive one would only worry the Cohens further. James would need to be taught to temper his instincts.

That was not the only thing to be concerned about, as he discovered with only a bit more observation. The smiles and whispers as James’ magic eased were normal enough, the cuddles and giggles a part of the day Fleamont had come to enjoy taking a moment to watch while the children played outside. They did not play the way the other children in the village did, or even the way James and Rosalind did when Rosemary was more interested in painting or watching the Abraxans, but that alone was not a problem. They would never be quite the same as other children, not with the bond they shared and the roles they would have. In some ways, this might even be better. James would grow into his responsibilities more easily with the motivation of keeping Rosemary safe and cared for.

If it were only a matter of cuddles and sleeping more easily together than apart, Fleamont would find a way of alleviating the Cohens’ concerns. Instead, he watched with a growing sense of unease as Rosemary glanced around quickly before reaching for James and kissing him as though she were fifteen instead of not quite five. It was a short kiss, barely a breath and very nearly chaste before it was replaced with the children nuzzling against each other with bright blushes and half-closed eyes. It still flooded Fleamont with tension as he worried over just how far their magic might push them.

And if it concerned Fleamont, who well understood where the children’s relationship would lead them in a few years, he could only imagine how it might look to the Cohens.

Unspeakable Goldstein was watching him when Fleamont turned back to the discussion of James and Rosemary and their magic. He inclined his head slightly in the direction of the side of the room opposite the children. It was an offer Fleamont could not turn down after having seen what he had.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Unspeakable Goldstein said quietly. “Children explore, it’s a natural part of their development. My baby sister caused a scandal at shul last month because she was taking 5p each from the boys to look up her dress.”

“James was not simply looking up Rosemary’s dress.”

He had no need to, the children bathed together regularly. They enjoyed the bubbles and charmed toys and it was easier on the elves. Now Fleamont found himself reconsidering the routine.

Unspeakable Goldstein continued to look unconcerned, even as James kissed the side of Rosemary’s neck after she settled between his legs so they could read the same book. “It’s the same idea, they just have other things to be curious about than most kids. They’re exploring their magic. It’s a good thing, the more they understand it as they grow, the easier it will be for them to use if Rosemary’s condition becomes less stable.”

That was likely true, but Fleamont found he was still unable to put aside his concerns. It was simply unsettling, watching the children exchange soft touches and the occasional kiss as though they were courting already. They weren’t yet old enough to court, James had only just begun the books that would help him learn the traditions and know what behaviour was expected of him as a gentleman and a Potter. Rosemary had only what she might have learnt from wizarding children’s stories, most of which said little more than that the heroes of the story had begun their courtship.

“James’ magic is not settled enough for a full courtship bond,” he said, putting into words at least one of the many things bothering him. “If Rosemary were a witch, perhaps, but...”

But his son did not have the stability of magic to support a courtship on his own. Not even with the Potter strength. He was too young, his magic too unstable. Any attempt to use it to introduce Rosemary to the Potter family magic would carry risks far higher than Fleamont was willing to take. There was more than one reason the traditions called for courtships to begin no sooner than coming of age.

“I’m not saying it is.” Unspeakable Goldstein stepped in front of him, partially blocking his view of the children. “Pay attention to your own magic, does it feel like James is asking you to accept a daughter?”

Fleamont shook his head with a slight smile. “That will be of no use, I’m afraid. My magic accepted the girls almost as soon as they moved into Linfred, as did Euphemia’s.”

It had hardly been a surprise to wake one morning and find that his magic had shifted as it hadn’t since James was born. He suspected he had begun to accept both girls from the moment he’d seen them, knowing that one of them would one day be James’ wife. It did, however, mean that he lacked the ability to understand the development of James and Rosemary’s bond as well as he might otherwise.

He glanced around Unspeakable Goldstein, watching as Rosemary looked at her parents for a moment before quickly kissing James again and settling back with an impish smile and soft giggle. Fleamont comforted himself with the thought that it at least must not have been going on long if James still looked so surprised.

“The Cohens won’t accept it,” he said. They wouldn’t. Fleamont himself was having difficulty accepting it. He’d thought he’d have to worry about lessons and training books, preparing the Cohens for Rosemary being as good as married well before they’d consider her old enough. Not their daughter kissing James before seeming to settle against him for a nap.

“Leave that to me and Dr Al-Najjar. It may take time, but that’s why it’ll be even more important to give James and Rosemary permission to explore their magic at Linfred.”

Unspeakable Goldstein paused for a moment, hesitating as he glanced behind himself at the children.

“They have stronger magic than expected,” he said, oddly apologetically. “Our early measurements were based around their meeting, but it would have been weak then from being separated. We should have thought to check again once it had had time to stabilise, then we might have been able to prepare you better.”

They might have, but Fleamont suspected it wouldn’t have helped. There were some things that couldn’t be prepared for, not entirely. All that might have happened was that he would have had more time to formulate the questions that were only now beginning to take shape in his head.

“How far is this likely to progress? Will they —” Fleamont cleared his throat, hoping to mask his flush at having stumbled over a question for the first time since he’d asked Euphemia to court. “I had hoped to have time to modify the lessons on coming of age for James, given that his will not be in the Potter tradition.”

“Oh!” Unspeakable Goldstein blushed himself, which helped Fleamont regain his bearings slightly. “No, I doubt you have to worry about that. James’ magic won’t allow for an unstable bond, which is what they’d have if they attempted to form one before his magic begins to mature.”

Fleamont allowed a small sigh of relief at that. It was one less thing to try explaining to the Cohens. And to Euphemia, who Fleamont was not looking forward to seeing when he returned to Linfred. She was sure to have opinions about the propriety of it all. At least he could be sure she would care more about James’ comfort and Rosemary’s health, as long as they were taught to behave around people outside the family.

That was when he noticed Unspeakable Goldstein’s continued hesitance. And sighed again, this time for a different reason.

“No sense holding back, what shall I be fretting about in the future?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Unspeakable Goldstein said slowly. “It’s only…we don’t know how their magic will grow. You might want to prepare for something of an escalation as James’ magic matures. A bit of petting, more intense kissing, likely a fair bit of frustration as his magic pushes him for a stronger bond while also keeps him from being able to complete it before Rosemary’s ready. The years between their birthdays will probably be difficult, especially as they adjust to having to be apart.”

Fleamont grimaced, even as he chuckled slightly. Being warned to prepare himself for a stroppy adolescent was somewhat amusing. James was a Potter, Fleamont fully expected he would have to reinforce the wards to contain the fits of temper he was sure to have as he grew.

The Cohens and Healer Al-Najjar joined them before Fleamont could ask about Hogwarts. It was likely just as well. There were still several years before James might attend, he hoped to have found a proper cure for Rosemary by then. Or at least one that would allow her to join James at the castle or in Hogsmeade.

For the moment, he turned his attention to Mr Cohen with a fair bit of uncertainty. Uncertainty that only grew at his demand to keep the children for a few days.

“You have more time to see them than I do,” he said. “You have dinner with them, sometimes breakfast, and your work allows you to drop everything to play with or watch them if you want. Dr Al-Najjar says this is normal and not something to worry about and I believe her, but I want to be able to see them for myself. For longer than a few hours on the weekends or when I can go into the office late.”

It was too reasonable a request for Fleamont to refuse, no matter that his magic insisted his heir and the future mother of his grandchildren be kept safely behind the Linfred wards. He’d not considered the relatively small amount of time Mr Cohen had with his daughters, only that the girls spent relatively equal amounts of time in both homes. That was something that would have to change when the children returned to Linfred, perhaps by alternating evenings or arranging for lessons to be in the afternoons.

For now, Fleamont forced himself to agree to the request. He ensured that the children would not be punished or made to feel ashamed of the development in their magic, insisted on a team of elves to ensure their safety, and reminded the Cohens that James and Rosemary would not sleep if they were separated, but he agreed. It was what he would have wanted, in the Cohens’ place.

It would also prove to be one of his biggest regrets.

* * *

Fleamont felt the moment his children were in danger. It was a sudden tension and urge to apparate to a location he could see clearly, but knew without a doubt he had never been to before. A screeching in his head and burst of flame along his arms as he was filled with terror that was not his own. He waited only long enough to summon his cloak before following the pull of his magic.

He arrived in a field with a _POP!_ the likes of which he’d not created since his earliest apparition lessons. A field lit only by the dim glow of muggle lights a short distance away, but it was enough for him to see the trail of smoke coming from a shallow ditch between him and the lights. He lit his wand, not wanting to apparate closer in case there was a reason his magic had called him to this particular location.

There was, as was evident before he took the first step. It was quiet at first, a low sound he wasn’t entirely certain he had heard, but followed for the same reason he’d followed his magic. The louder the sound became, the faster he moved, slowly recognising Rosemary’s sniffles.

She was with James, being rocked and whispered to in a small cluster of trees just before the ditch as the elves he’d assigned to them tugged at their ears. Fleamont frantically searched for Rosalind, relieved to find her hidden in the shadows behind them.

Relieved for a moment. Before he noticed her blank stare and thought to try seeing what she was looking at.

He gently turned her away, pressing her face against his robes before gesturing to an elf and sending for Healer Al-Najjar. There was nothing to be done, even he could see that, but James and the girls would need looked over and Fleamont needed to reassure himself that his children were safe, at least physically.

And Rosalind did not need to continue looking at the bodies of her parents and sister tangled amongst twisted pieces of metal and shards of broken glass. It was an image Fleamont would have a difficult enough time sorting into a less painful part of his mind.

* * *

The funerals were quiet, arranged by Unspeakable Goldstein and Rabbi Isaacs as the Cohens had no known relatives other than the twins. A new routine began to emerge. Unspeakable Goldstein would arrive in the morning and escort Fleamont and the children to Hogsmeade, where he would gently assist the girls with a ritual of some sort. There were stories and cuddles and sorting through of the Cohens’ things until lunch, when they would return to Hogsmeade for a repeat of the ritual. Afternoons were spent attempting to encourage the children to play on the grounds, with as little success as expected. They would return to Hogsmeade a third time shortly before sunset, staying in the cottage further from the synagogue if it was Friday so as to avoid exposing the girls to more memories than necessary.

Throughout it all, Rosalind did not speak. At first, Fleamont thought it a normal reaction that would pass with time. After a week, he sent for Healer Al-Najjar who assured him there was nothing physically or magically wrong and gave him a list of specialist healers. Each agreed it would ease as the nightmares and magical outbursts and other responses to trauma did. The magical outbursts slowly began to steady, but the nightmares and silence continued.

Fleamont and Euphemia worried more as the days and weeks passed. As the girls’ birthday came and went with only a quiet celebration. As they were introduced to their new governesses, the specialist healers insisting they attempt to continue as planned even if modifications were needed. As the summer wore on, each day seeming to bring a new problem rather than the progress the healers promised.

Rosalind began wetting the bed. She complained often of stomachaches and headaches, both seeming to cause her to lose her appetite so that Fleamont was forced to ask Hatty to dose what little she would eat with nutrient potions. She tussled with Rosemary over toys and books, something that had never happened before — once going so far as to attempt to hit her so that James’ magic reacted and knocked her onto the ground.

It was normal, according to the healers. The outbursts, the silence, the alternating between constant napping and seeming to find her way into every questionably safe part of the castle. Normal, normal, it was all normal. Fleamont never again wanted to hear that anything to do with his children was normal.

It was troubling, really, that James and Rosemary’s response seemed so trivial in comparison. Barely worth noting when it took all of their efforts to see to Rosalind.

Yes, they were rather clingy. Yes, they refused to allow each other out of touching distance. Yes, James’ magic flared out of control if so much as a twig snapped while they were on the grounds. There was Rosemary’s tendency to burst into tears at nothing at all, the magical outburst that had resulted in the collection of muggle toy cars the Cohens had bought James being burnt to ash, and the way they were both withdrawing further and further into each other.

There was their tendency to lose themselves in long bouts of kissing that ranged from sweet to worryingly frantic. The way bath time had started to involve fewer games and bubble hairstyles and more curling together in the water as they stared at nothing. Their refusal to wear more than underclothes at night, James always falling asleep with his lips pressed to Rosemary’s shoulder. Both Fleamont and Euphemia had happened upon them on the grounds or in the nursery, James holding himself carefully above Rosemary as they kissed, in a mimicry of everything Fleamont had been worried about.

But that was only their magic, as Healer Al-Najjar reminded him. It was an attempt to reassure and comfort themselves, the same way Fleamont himself could not sleep without waking nearly every hour with the urge to check that all of his children were safe and accounted for. The way Euphemia refused to allow them anywhere near a muggle road without her. And, like those things, it did slowly improve. Rosemary began asking for piano lessons. James wanted a new broom. They went an entire day with only small kisses between giggles when Hatty woke them and again when they were put to bed.

Rosalind continued to be silent.

* * *

“I was thinking of inviting the Prewetts over,” he said to Euphemia one morning near the end of October, “perhaps the Weasleys and Ladstocks.”

Euphemia lifted one eyebrow as she looked at him over the rim of her teacup. “You plan to overwhelm her into speaking? It’s not a terrible idea, though I believe I have a tea with Rhona I simply cannot miss.”

Fleamont had expected that. Euphemia had never enjoyed the chaos of the Weasleys, no matter how often she had mentioned having an even larger family when they were in the early days of their courtship and marriage. He had considered the McGonagalls or Ollivanders instead for that reason, but it was not only the influx of new playmates that had him considering a party of sorts.

James and Rosemary had a bond, one that Rosalind could not join as James could not join the twin bond she shared with Rosemary. As worrying as it had been, their connection had given both of them the security they needed to move forward. He could not begin to hope that Rosalind would find as suitable a match as they had, but perhaps…there might be something. He only wished the McKinnons had more than a single granddaughter. Their connection to the family was close enough that their magic worked similarly, even if not as much as the Prewetts’.

He decided to add the Rosses and Keiths as well, after Euphemia had gone to dress and he had begun sending the invitations. The MacDougals and Foxworths for the next day, to avoid the petty rivalries they had with the Keiths and Weasleys. Rosalind would have every opportunity to interact with a variety of wizards, far more than Fleamont would normally consider inviting to the castle while the children were still so young.

And if he was quietly relieved when she avoided all but young Lord Lawrence Weasley, well, that was only for the sake of Euphemia’s nerves.

Rosalind was silent throughout the morning and light lunch served to the children on the grounds, but there were no magical outbursts or fits of temper which was more than Fleamont had been hoping for. He settled more comfortably in his chair, watching with amusement as James led Rosemary about as though they were at a proper garden party.

That, of course, was when it happened, so quickly that he would have to review the memory in a pensieve multiple times before he was able to understand it. One moment the children were playing relatively peacefully, the next Rosalind was throwing herself between Rosemary and an outburst of accidental magic from one of the extended Weasley boys.

James’ magic joined with hers, so that by the time Fleamont was able to hurry over all three children were encased in a magical bubble. He shooed the visitors out of the way, calling for extra elves to summon their parents and watch over them until they arrived. The angry, rippling nature of the bubble warned him off attempting to breach it by magical or physical means. Instead, he approached slowly, dropping to his knees when he was close enough to be seen.

Rosemary was sandwiched between James and Rosalind, shaking but appearing unharmed. Rosalind worried Fleamont more. James would recover, with time, his magic dropping back into himself when he caught sight of his father. There would likely be a return to the need for reassurance after this, but it was less concerning than Rosalind’s still uncontrolled magic.

He sat back onto his heels, reaching out carefully with his magic in the hopes that it would soothe her — and sent for Healer Al-Najjar when it didn’t.

There was little he could do in the meantime except wait, watching to ensure Rosalind didn’t strain her magic so much as to need it bound. James seemed to realise the same thing. He carefully knelt in the bubble before lying down, pulling both girls with him so that Rosemary was curled against his side with Rosalind pressed against her back.

Fleamont looked up at the sound of a throat clearing. Fabian Prewett stood next to him, holding out a slightly ragged stuffed lion.

“Gideon says teddies are for babies,” he said quietly, “but she’s littler than me so it’s probably ok. Lord Leo’s really good at helping with magic.”

There was something about the way Fabian’s magic swayed ever so slightly in Rosalind’s direction that made Fleamont pause for a moment, considering before shifting so that he was sitting more comfortably and patting the ground next to him.

“Lord Leo?”

Fabian nodded. “Lord Leopold Leonardo, Lion of Brecknock. Dad got him because my magic was hiding.”

Fleamont remembered that, the fear that Fabian would be one of the rare squib identical twins. It had only been the problem he had assumed Rosemary had, shyness on the part of a quieter sibling who had little reason to test their magic when their twin did everything for them, but lasting long enough to worry Maxwell. This must be the toy he had charmed to respond to Fabian’s magic, encouraging him to use it and then to learn to begin controlling it once it grew strong enough to respond to his emotions.

It gave Fleamont the beginnings of an idea. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward Lord Leo.

He duplicated the lion, giving Fabian back the original, then considered the copy. Something linked to Rosalind’s magic, yes, but also to her emotions. And without upsetting the slight hint of Fabian’s magic, just in case.

He placed the lion as near the bubble of magic as he dared, raising a shield around himself and Fabian before charming it closer. Then he watched, waiting to see how the magic would react.

For long moments, it didn’t. Healer Al-Najjar arrived, stilling and sitting next to Fleamont when he gestured for her to lower her wand. Unspeakable Goldstein followed shortly after, joining them in watching the lion slowly ease itself into the bubble of magic.

Fleamont’s knees were growing stiff when the lion was close enough to nudge against Rosalind’s ankles, but the effect was immediate. Her magic fell back into her, collapsing all at once as she sat up and blinked at the toy.

She didn’t speak, as he’d hoped she would, but the hint of a smile when she picked up Lord Leo’s duplicate was better than nothing. Fleamont stood, placing his hand on Fabian’s shoulder to hold him back when it seemed as though he would rush forward. James and the girls needed a check-up, at least, and he wasn’t entirely sure how Rosalind’s magic would react, even with her new companion.

There wasn’t the instant connection of the sort James and Rosemary had had, even after the children were all declared as healthy as they had been at their last check-up. Fabian’s magic didn’t rush toward Rosalind the way James’ had Rosemary the first time they’d met, Rosalind didn’t immediately look to him as Rosemary did James. She listened as he introduced Lord Leo, the hint of a smile widening only a fraction as she waved her own lion’s paw. Still, she said nothing.

But she reached out to stop Fabian when Maxwell came up to collect him. Blushed as red as Rosemary before quickly pecking his cheek and running away.

Fleamont fell asleep that night with more hope than he’d had in months. It wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t yet anything they could be sure of. But it was a start.

*********************

* * *

Rosalind woke early the morning of James’ coming of age. Quietly and carefully, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of her rooms, taking Lady Leona with her. It was a longer walk across the nursery than it might otherwise have been, Rosalind having asked to move to her own suite in the nursery a little over a year earlier. The suite Fabian had taken for his own when he visited had helpfully provided an extra room attached to his sitting room, complete with a den for Lady Leona as Fabian had one for Lord Leo.

It was a nice room, even if she did think it was entirely unfair that she wasn’t allowed to share with Fabian the way Rosemary and James did. Peaceful, in soothing crimsons and pale golds that Rosemary insisted were dizzying, but Rosalind found cosy. Like sitting next to a fire on a chilly day.

Unfortunately, it also meant she had to trek across the sitting room without drawing the attention of Hatty or any of the other nanny elves. It was something she’d never quite managed before, usually getting caught just before she reached James and Rosemary’s door. This time she managed to slip into the sitting room, pausing for a long moment to make sure there weren’t wards that would call Hatty.

There didn’t seem to be, nor did the elves seem to be monitoring James and Rosemary’s room as closely as they did the common areas of the nursery. Rosalind was able to reach the door to the bedroom proper much faster than she had the door to the suite.

She grinned as she threw the door open and —

“EWWWW, gross!”

She should have known James and Rosemary would be more than just cuddling. They’d been spending more and more time _alone_ as James’ birthday drew near, always reappearing slightly flushed and with their clothes more askew than they probably realised. This was not the first time she’d seen James holding Rosemary’s hips against his as she clutched at the back of whatever he was wearing.

Rosalind ducked the pillow Rosemary threw at her, ignoring the screeched “LINDY!” as she jumped on the bed and shoved the present Lady Leona had been holding at James.

“You know you’re not allowed yet,” she said cheerfully, “but since it’s your birthday I guess I won’t tell.”

James looked up from where he’d buried his face in a pillow just long enough to glare at her. Rosemary, of course, was fussing too much to do more than scowl for a minute before returning to running her hand along James’ back to soothe his magic. Rosalind rolled her eyes. Rosemary acted like James’ magic would eat him up sometimes. It was almost worse than the way James insisted on doing anything that might be a little strenuous for her, even going so far as to carry her to bed when she’d stayed up later than usual.

That was when Rosalind noticed the bruise. And was reminded that she wasn’t much better herself. Her hand shot out, tugging the collar of Rosemary’s nightdress down to be sure it wasn’t a shadow.

“James!” Rosalind smacked the back of his head, the careless git. “You mauled her!”

James was up in a flash, gently running his fingers along the bruise. He glanced at Rosalind, hesitating only slightly before tugging up the hem of Rosemary’s nightdress. The yellowing fingerprints along her hip had both of them calling for Hatty despite Rosemary’s protests.

* * *

“I’m fine,” Rosemary said for what had to be the billionth time as Noah — who had long since been considered a part of the family — checked her over. She was. She hadn’t been tired or achy or prone to nosebleeds or anything. Mother had even agreed she could be allowed riding lessons, _finally_.

“Then tell me where you got those bruises.”

The heat in her face was not even a little surprising, no matter that Noah knew exactly what the answer would be. Both she and Jamie had been finding it more difficult to keep to gentle kisses lately. It was as expected, according to Noah, but that didn’t make it any easier to say. Especially not when the mark on her neck, at least, was likely from the recent discovery that Jamie’s teeth scraping along her skin made her hips thrust against his in the most wonderful way.

Noah agreed when she managed to mumble her way through explaining, but continued to ignore her insistence that there was nothing wrong with her. He summoned a chair after finishing his scans, sitting across from her and taking her hands in his.

“We knew the magic would stop working as well eventually,” he said gently. “The castle and Potter magic have been giving James’ magic time to mature, but now that it has it’s time to try healing you properly.”

Rosemary swallowed. Time to _try_ healing her properly. Only try, because Noah and Healer Al-Najjar thought there was something special about Potter magic and how much more protective it was than other families’, but couldn’t be sure.

“Please don’t tell Lindy.”

Noah’s smile was sympathetic, though he shook his head anyway. “You know that’s not up to me. You can ask your parents, but I doubt they’ll agree“

“But she’ll want to try the muggle medicine!”

She would, had been trying to convince them all since she’d first learnt about it. She’d want to try and she’d probably manage to convince Mother and Father because Healer Al-Najjar said it was safer now that they were older. It _wasn_ _’t_ safe though, not entirely. She still might die, still might lose her magic, still might be sick in a million different ways and all for something they weren’t even sure would work. Rosemary had hated the idea for as long as Rosalind had loved it.

Not that that mattered. It never had. She crossed her arms, falling backwards onto the bed in a sulk as Noah called in the others. She didn’t _want_ the muggle medicine. Not if it was going to hurt Lindy.

* * *

James was not good at controlling his magic. He knew that, though he did try because of how much it upset Rosemary to see him surrounded by magical flames. He’d hoped that his birthday would mean it would get easier. Instead it only seemed to have made his magic grow, springing to the surface even more easily than it already had.

He wrapped himself closer around Rosemary, being extra careful to keep his hold on her loose as he tried to bury himself in her scent. There was something about it that had always helped calm him, made it just a little easier to keep his magic where it belonged.

He needed his magic to be calm now. _Rosemary_ needed his magic to be calm, even if the idea of her being sick again made it hard for him to think. Noah said it was important. That his magic could help, but only if he was careful and used it mindfully.

Rosalind, of course, was not taking that well. Which was why James was doing his very best to comfort Rosemary as she laid on their bed and stared at nothing. He let just the tiniest trickle of magic sink into her, focusing on the marks on her neck and hips.

“She only wants to help,” he said softly.

It didn’t matter. Rosemary knew that as well as he did. She still only shrugged, not even responding when he gently kissed her shoulder. He suspected this was one of those times Father had often had to remind him he couldn’t do anything about. Wanting to arrange everything so that Rosemary was never anything less than perfectly happy and healthy didn’t make it truly possible, much to his irritation.

That was especially true when it came to Rosalind. Mother said it was part of being sisters, that they’d fight sometimes the same way Gideon and Fabian did. Knowing that had never made it any easier for James to accept. It was too confusing, his magic always being pulled between his future wife and his little sister.

Times like this were the worst though. Times when he couldn’t simply give in to the instinct to support Rosemary over anyone else because he understood Rosalind too well. He’d be in the wing dedicated to Rosemary’s care too, arguing with Mother and Father and Noah if they’d tried to tell him he wasn’t allowed to help her. Even if it might cost him his magic.

That was something Rosemary didn’t understand. She never had, no matter how many times he or Rosalind or even Fabian had tried to explain it to her. He’d give up anything at all if it meant never again having to worry about bruises or cuts that bled far too long. Magic or Linfred or all the gold in the Potter vaults, none of it mattered compared to the nightmares he could still remember as easily as if he’d only just woken from one. Nightmares that left him shaking and sweaty, filled with an emptiness he couldn’t explain. That still made him need to slip his hands under Rosemary’s clothes any time he thought of them, reassuring himself with the warmth of her skin as he wished Potters were one of the families that bound a couple’s lives together. It was twisted magic, according to Father, used because those families had a tendency to murder their spouses in fits of anger or jealousy, but James could imagine nothing worse than a world without Rosemary.

He turned her around, tugging off every bit of clothing he dared before settling her across his chest. It was a terrible idea, one that required gently pushing her away when she looked up at him in concern and tried to kiss him, but it was the only way he knew to keep his magic somewhat calm. Rosemary’s breath puffing against his chest as he tangled his fingers in her hair and tried not to think about the possibility of never being able to have more than this.

If only they were the same age. James’ fingers itched for the necklace sitting in his bedside table. Rosemary was a muggle, there was no reason they should have to wait to court, but Mother and Father insisted anyway. He wondered if that might change, now that she was sick again.

It should. In fact, James decided that it would have to. Rosemary was to be his wife, they all knew it. It was why she’d grown up at Linfred, why Father had arranged for Healer Al-Najjar and Noah and the entire team that still met at least once a month, why they were allowed to be as close as they were. He reached out to slide open the drawer he’d hidden the Inkasia’s box in. Mother and Father would likely kill him for this, but they’d forgive him eventually. Right now what mattered was Rosemary.

Rosemary and Potter magic and making sure she had every chance of getting better. James was unwilling to keep her from anything that might help, even a little, no matter how anyone felt about it.

* * *

Once again, Fleamont found himself staring at Unspeakable Goldstein — Healer Goldstein now, though no one ever called him that — in stunned silence.

Or not quite silence. He still knew what he objected to, as he had the very first time.

“A magic transfusion?” Fleamont shook his head. “Absolutely not. Not until her magic has matured more.”

It was absurd, and not only because no one had ever performed a magic transfusion on a muggle. Rosalind was not yet nine. Her magic hadn’t settled yet, had not begun to grow into what it would one day be. She didn’t have the stability or depth needed to survive a donation without permanent damage, possibly the loss of her magic entirely.

“I don’t think we should do it today,” Noah clarified, “but I want you to be prepared for one when she comes of age. Possibly as soon as she comes of age. Rosemary’s condition has returned to being unstable and I can only slow the progression so much. I can guarantee two years, if we’re lucky the courtship bond will give us another. After that, this is the best idea I have.”

That Noah’s best idea involved an untested theory based around Potter magic and twin bonds was part of what concerned Fleamont. Rosemary’s treatment had always been experimental, had always required more research than he’d done since applying for his mastery and a level of risk he’d not considered since beginning to court Euphemia. But the risk had been of failure, of not researching quickly enough or finding that a treatment they had decided on wasn’t working as well as they’d hoped.

Never, not once in the years since they’d begun, had he been forced to truly consider risking Rosalind to save Rosemary. He had never before been more grateful for James’ nightmares. He could not imagine what it might have done to the Cohens to be forced to make the same decision, only to still find themselves with two daughters instead of three.

He stood, moving to look out the window where he could see Rosalind sulking beneath Wilereykos. She had taken their continued refusal to attempt a bone marrow transplant exactly as well as expected. Euphemia had gone to fetch Fabian for that reason. Their bond was still forming, still barely a suggestion compared to James and Rosemary’s, but he had always been able to reach her in ways no one else could. Even if they did not end up courting, Fleamont fully expected her to request Fabian for her coming of age, as Fabian himself had refused anyone until Rosalind was old enough.

Which was another consideration, one Noah appeared to have given at least some thought to.

“After would be best,” he said, “to take advantage of the magical growth and stabilisation. We may not have that option though, it depends on how far Rosemary progresses without James to help stabilise her.”

“That will not be a problem.”

It would not be, no matter how many generations of Potters had been sent off to Hogwarts. Rosemary’s health was more important. Even if Fleamont himself did not think so, James would. There would be no convincing him to leave her side now that they knew she was unwell.

Fleamont would have to see if Maxwell was willing to allow Fabian to put off attending as well. James and Rosemary were likely to withdraw into themselves again, as they had after the accident. It would be helpful for Rosalind to have a friend of her own to take comfort in.

He turned at the sound of the door to the study opening, surprised to see James and Rosemary. He’d expected they would stay in their room until at least supper. Their magic would be bothering them, especially with James’ growth spurt, and would encourage them to stay wrapped up in each other as long as possible. For a moment, he was certain that something terrible must have happened to overcome that.

Then he saw the glimmer of platinum and gold around their necks. Looked up from there to their expressions — Rosemary’s hesitant, James’ defiant — and back down to their linked hands. Saw the rings they should not have been wearing. _Could not_ have been wearing, not without performing a ritual Fleamont had decidedly not given them permission for. And pointed to the chairs in front of his desk.

“Explain.”

* * *

Rosalind was not anywhere close to sleep when the door to her room eased open. She should have been, she’d been lying there for hours, but every time she closed her eyes she was torn between terror and fury. It was like right after Mummy and Tatty and Becca had died, when the only thing that felt even a little better was letting her magic destroy everything around her. She couldn’t sleep without closing her eyes and she couldn’t close her eyes without feeling like that again, so she was awake when Fabian crept into her room.

He was holding Lord Leo, something that was a surprise only because he’d told James and Gideon he’d given the lion to one of his cousins. It was another thing that had contributed to her temper, though she couldn’t say why. It just hadn’t seemed right, not having a second lion to sit next to Lady Leona when he visited.

Lord Leo was placed in the den built into Rosalind’s headboard where he belonged, just before Fabian slipped into the bed next to her. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask why she was awake or how she was doing or if she was still angry. Only pulled her close against his chest, running his hands through her hair and down her back as she let her magic rage.

Rosemary would be horrified if she was ever allowed to see how violent Rosalind’s magic could sometimes be. She’d fuss and fret and try to help, the way she did with James because they’d all learnt by now that his magic was incapable of hurting her.

Rosalind’s magic wasn’t like that. She could still remember accidentally freezing Rosemary’s hand not long after the funeral because she’d wanted a toy. It had been enough to shock her magic back into her, but even now James put himself between her and Rosemary when her magic began to spark. As much as Rosemary might want to, she couldn’t take care of Rosalind’s magic the way she did James’.

No one could. Not even Fabian. Her magic ripped at the shield he’d cast around himself and the lions, attempting to destroy it along with everything else. He recast it. Again and again and again, as he had from the first time he’d sneaked into her room to hold her like this, well before he’d been old enough for a wand. Until finally, after what felt like a lifetime, her magic had tired itself out.

Fabian wiped her face after, like he always did. She never could remember beginning to cry, but she was always stuffy and puffy-eyed once her magic had quieted and Fabian always seemed to have a handkerchief to clean her up with. He wiped her face and tucked her hair behind her ear and handed her Lady Leona before turning onto his back and pulling her against his side to cuddle until she fell asleep.

Only this time he didn’t. This time he stopped after tucking her hair behind her ear, his thumb gently stroking along her cheek as he stared at her.

There wasn’t much light in her room. Not even a candle the way James and Rosemary had because Rosemary had never quite gotten over her fear of the dark after the accident. Rosalind was the opposite. She hated the soft glow of a single light in the darkness, hated being able to see just enough to never forget. Her room would have been pitch black, if not for the moon and the flitterbies that sometimes liked to gather on her windows.

Usually she hated the flitterbies. Opened her windows and shooed them away so she could sleep in peace. Tonight, she found herself wishing there was a way to thank them. She didn’t think she’d have ever noticed how blue Fabian’s eyes were otherwise. Deep, vibrant blue, like the sea at the Potter home in Greece they’d visited last summer. She found herself staring back at him, her breath coming in shallow bursts for no reason she could think of.

Not until Fabian tilted his head, just a little. Barely even at all, but to her it was as if everything had shifted because then she was tilting her chin up to meet him and her eyes were falling closed of their own accord as their lips met.

She’d always expected she’d kiss Fabian at some point. It was just something that was, the way everyone knew James and Rosemary would start courting. She just hadn’t thought either of those things would happen today. Fabian was too polite, too careful, he would never try to kiss her first and she hadn’t thought to try kissing him before her coming of age.

Except he had tried, just a little. Just enough for Rosalind to be glad he’d not been careful just this once. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, surprising even herself with a whimper as his teeth accidentally scraped against her lip.

This was better than she’d expected. Far better, she wasn’t entirely sure why they hadn’t tried it sooner. Fabian’s hands were warm, comforting on her back and waist. She let herself fall into the sensations, enjoying the way he gasped when she hesitantly tried opening her mouth just a little more. If Rosemary could go off and perform the courtship ritual _without even telling her_ she was going to do it, then Rosalind could enjoy this. Fabian pressed as tight against her as he could be, so that she could feel the way his muscles quivered as she tried to find out what exactly it was she was meant to be doing with her tongue.

He pulled away when she tried to tug him to lay atop her. Clutched her even tighter than before as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder, but still shook his head.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “Not — I won’t be able to stop.”

That was when Rosalind understood what she’d been feeling since she’d unconsciously thrown her leg across his hip in an attempt to pull him closer. She could feel her face flushing, even as she couldn’t bring herself to move away. Instead she snuggled just the tiniest bit closer. Snuggled closer and smirked when it made Fabian gasp and grab at her hips to hold her still.

They couldn’t…she wasn’t entirely sure she would be ready for her coming of age even if she were old enough, but there were other things. Things James and Rosemary had been given permission for, if their magic bothered them too much. She didn’t think they had, not yet, but maybe…

Fabian shook his head again when she tried shifting against him. He took a deep, unsteady breath before kissing the top of her head and putting a sizeable gap between them.

Rosalind felt herself curling inward. She’d thought — but then, she didn’t know much about any of this. Only what she’d learnt from the training books and watching James and Rosemary. And no one else was like James and Rosemary. Everyone said so.

Then Fabian was reaching out again, tilting her chin up and looking at her with an expression she knew was concerned even with only the light of the flitterbies.

“What’s wrong?”

Rosalind shook her head. Nothing. Nothing was wrong. She was just being silly, was all. Of course Fabian wouldn’t want to do more than kiss. Even if James and Rosemary were allowed, they weren’t James and Rosemary. They didn’t have magic that had started binding them together well before they’d started courting. She moved to cuddle against his side like always.

And had to bite down hard on her lip to keep her eyes from watering when he stopped her again.

“In a minute,” he said, his voice sounding oddly hesitant. He watched her for a moment, reaching out to tuck her hair back behind her ear before sitting up and lighting the tip of his wand.

It wasn’t much more light, but it was enough for Rosalind to see the slightest hint of fear that flashed across his face before he reached for Lord Leo. Lord Leo, who was sitting on top of a box that Fabian managed to cover with the sleeve of his nightshirt so she couldn’t see what it was until he handed it to her.

When he did, all she could do was stare.

It was an Inkasia’s box. She was absolutely sure of it, no matter how little light there was. She knew what an Inkasia’s box looked like. There was a catalogue shoved at the very back of her deepest desk drawer. She’d flipped through it every night for a year after learning about platinum courtships. Had looked at it exactly once the night she’d realised a platinum courtship was what James and Rosemary were expected to have, before putting it away and trying not to think about it. It wasn’t worth hoping for when no one else could ever be like James and Rosemary.

Except now there was an Inkasia’s box in her hands. A proper Inkasia’s box, with platinum lettering she could trace her fingers over. She tried to think of something to say. Something that wasn’t “but you have three older brothers“ which, of course, was what she ended up saying.

Fabian laughed softly, moving forward to kiss her again — quickly this time, so that she was barely able to enjoy it.

“Prewetts let anyone commission a platinum courtship set, as long as we’re sure.” He tilted her chin up, seeming to search her eyes for a moment before continuing. “I’m sure. Don’t — you don’t have to decide now, not unless you’re sure too. You should let your magic settle and I think your dad will probably kill me for even showing that to you, especially after James being a prat, and we can’t do the ritual until your magic is ready anyway so it doesn’t really matter —”

Rosalind cut him off in the best way possible. She set aside the Inkasia’s box, grabbed the front of his nightshirt, and dragged him back down onto the bed with her, hooking her leg around his so she could properly feel him against her. It was an exercise in frustration, but one she thought she might enjoy doing as often as possible until her proper coming of age. James and Rosemary’s tendency to disappear made far more sense now. She couldn’t imagine why they didn’t do it more often.

Then she had to let go so that Fabian could gather himself and decided that there were some definite drawbacks to allowing themselves to get quite so caught up in each other. Especially when something about his flushed face and the careful way he held himself still only made her want to drag him back.

“Yes,” she said softly, both as a distraction and because she was sure too. She thought she might have been even before tonight. It had always been ginger boys with freckled faces and crooked grins holding Inkasia’s boxes in her daydreams, after all.

Fabian’s eyes flew open and he seemed to somehow manage to still even further as he stared at her.

“Really?”

Rosalind couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped her as she nodded. He just looked so surprised. As though he honestly thought there was a chance of her wanting to be with anyone else. There could never be anyone else. Maybe their bond wasn’t as strong as James and Rosemary’s, maybe they didn’t have warning dreams or magic that pressed on them constantly, but that didn’t change anything. She still couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but Fabian.

Her giggles turned to full blown laughs as he pulled her off the bed and spun her around. She clutched at him when he stopped long enough to kiss her, not entirely sure she’d be able to stay standing otherwise.

Fabian picked up the Inkasia’s box, hesitating for a moment before looking at her with a sheepish grin.

“I have to ask your dad and Healer Goldstein if you’re allowed to wear this yet,” he said apologetically, “but I thought…”

He opened the box, turning it toward her so she could see her necklace. Her necklace and the two smaller ones above it, exact replicas of the ones they’d wear and the perfect size for Lady Leona and Lord Leo.

“Lady Leona won’t even have to change her name,” she laughed — then blushed as Fabian gave her a curious look and she realised she never had told anyone Leona’s full name. Lady Leona Leonardo, Lioness of Linfred and Brecknock. In her defence, she hadn’t understood the full implications of the name when she’d decided on it, no more than she’d known that lionesses didn’t have manes.

Fabian’s smile when she told him made her glad she hadn’t changed it even once she understood better. He curled around her in bed after they’d given the lions their new accessories, gently moving her hair out of the way to kiss her shoulder.

“I love you.”

Rosalind rolled her eyes. “ _Duh_.” Of course he loved her. She wouldn’t have agreed to court if he didn’t. “I love you too. Stay?”

“But —”

“Please?” Rosalind looked over her shoulder at him. “James and Rosemary got to before they were courting.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Fabian nodded and pulled her closer against him. “I guess it’s all right. Since you love me and all.”

The tickle fight that followed kept both of them awake until the early hours of the morning.

* * *

Fleamont had only rarely been able to deny his children anything for any reason short of their safety. Rosemary’s riding lessons, James’ constant desire for a faster broom. The only thing he had ever denied Rosalind was the opportunity to risk her life to help Rosemary.

He suspected that was what was making this so difficult.

“You understand why I cannot allow it?” he asked gently.

Rosalind nodded, looking only slightly more upset than he’d hoped. “I’m not a muggle like Rosemary,” she said with a small sigh. “It might hurt my magic to start courting before my coming of age. Can I still wear my necklace? Please? I don’t have to make Fabian’s yet, but at least to parties?”

“You may wear it wherever and whenever you like,” Fleamont promised, “as long as you agree to not make Fabian’s until you have your own wand.”

Noah and Healer Al-Najjar had both agreed that was safe enough, much to Fleamont’s relief. There would be several parties over summer that the girls would be old enough to attend properly, rather than being sent off to play in the nursery. He could only imagine how Rosalind and Fabian’s magic might react if they were forced to hide even the more subtle announcement that they would be courting just as soon as she was old enough. Especially with Fabian now old enough to be considered by some of the more forward and ambitious witches. Being only sixth in line to inherit Brecknock would not stop many of them, and Fleamont had no desire to witness the magical outburst that would result if they were not warned off. James’ anger at being told they would have to manipulate the family magic to temporarily hide the completion of his and Rosemary’s courtship ritual had been bad enough and that had been for Rosemary’s safety. It would be best to not remind the more traditional families that she was a muggle rather than simply a fostered future Potter wife.

Which brought him to another point, one he hoped would make up for Rosalind not being allowed all of the same things as her sister.

“I believe it is also time to move you out of the nursery,” he said carefully, watching as Rosalind’s eyes widened. It was difficult not to chuckle, particularly when he knew Euphemia was well aware of where Fabian had slept the previous night. “The castle has decided it is time to move James and Rosemary into the heir wing, it seems silly to not move your rooms as well.”

The speed at which Rosalind’s head began to shake would have been concerning, had Fleamont not been distracted by the sudden increased difficulty in hiding his smile. “You don’t have to,” she insisted, “I like the nursery. It’s quiet and I can visit Miss Gentlefield whenever I want.”

“Really?” Fleamont shrugged casually. “I had thought you and Fabian might like a wing of your own now that Maxwell has agreed to let him be fostered, but if you would rather stay in the nursery…”

It took a slow count of ten before Rosalind seemed to gather herself enough to stop staring at him. Fleamont kept careful track in order to show Euphemia later. She would want to know, so as to gain a better sense of where to begin Rosalind’s training. Fleamont would, of course, be asking the family magic to grant the children their own titles. A platinum courtship was a thing to be celebrated, and he refused to treat his daughters any more differently than he had to.

He would also share the memory of Rosalind’s hug and whispered “thank you, papa”, if only because it had been so long since any of the children had called them something other than Mother and Father. They were growing rather more quickly than he or Euphemia liked. If not for the reason, an extra two or so years of having James at home would have been a pleasant surprise.

* * *

James had planned to wake Rosemary with kisses he finally wouldn’t have to hold back for her coming of age. Even after they’d found out she was ill again, Noah and Healer Al-Najjar had kept her so stable, so _normal_ , that he’d only thought he’d have to be rather more careful than expected. He’d pictured tracing kisses along her arms and neck, teasing her until she begged and then teasing some more. Suckling at her chest, nipping at her thighs, drinking in every inch of her so that she was soaking with need by the time he allowed himself to sink into her.

He’d wanted to feel their necklaces pressed between their chests as he swallowed her cries. Wanted to tangle their fingers together so he could feel her ring against his skin as she arched under him. He would imprint himself on her, the way she’d done to him, so that they were even more thoroughly joined than they already were. She would be his and he would be hers, as they always had been only it would be better because they’d know each other in yet another way no one else ever could.

Instead he watched her sleep as he waited for Tessie to come wake them. She was paler than he’d like, the rosy tint to her cheeks having faded in the last few months. Her hair was limp and thin, no longer tangling in his fingers when he so much as touched it. He carefully pressed his lips along her shoulder as Tessie opened the curtains.

She needed help sitting up, as she had for several days. James held her against him, urging her to eat everything Noah had ordered. It was difficult, it always was, but she needed her strength. Today especially. Today they would attempt the magic transfusions, and hope that the combination of twin and Potter magic would work as Noah expected.

James found himself mumbling one of the very few prayers he knew. It was the blessing over bread, but the firm belief he’d had two years ago that no Potter intended had ever died before being married — and only a scarce few before having at least one child — no longer seemed like enough. He hoped it was like magic, where sometimes the words mattered less than the intent.

* * *

Rosalind spent most of the night before her birthday in a haze of magic, arousal, and desperation. She panted against Fabian’s lips, regretting having given in to the need for comfort so early in the evening because the result was a painful cycle of waxing and waning that became harder to not break with each passing minute.

She’d imagined her coming of age in much the same way Rosemary had. She knew because they’d giggled about it for months after she’d hesitantly shown off her necklace. Fabian would wake her slowly on her birthday, take his time showering her with kisses and soft touches. He’d look at her the way he’d always looked at her, but that she’d only started noticing after he’d asked her to court. Adoring and warm, his eyes lighting up in a particular way only for her.

There would be teasing, she was sure, because Fabian was nearly as protective as James and would insist on taking extra care to not hurt her even if she told him she was ready. He would try to push her away when she went to take him in her hand, nervous about not being able to hold back long enough for her to enjoy it. She would have to take over then, in a way that always made Rosemary blush to hear, because the books all said it would last longer if a wizard had finished at least once first and Rosalind was sure that once they started she wouldn’t want Fabian to stop for a _long_ time.

There would be smiles and cuddles and kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s. Fabian would hold her close, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him. It would be brilliant, even if it was terrible, because it was her and it was Fabian and nothing else would matter except learning about this new way to be together. They’d spend the morning entirely in their wing, feeding each other and sharing a bath before leaving just long enough for her to get a wand so they could make their courtship official. There would be the ritual and the small gathering that came after, and then they’d return to their rooms and hide away until their magic settled, the way James and Rosemary had.

Instead she was a mess of sticky when she felt her magic change and knew it was officially her birthday. There had only been so many times Fabian could hold back and a bath was out of the question. She couldn’t face the idea of being away from him even that long, not tonight. They both knew better than to attempt sharing, even in the shower with the water charmed fully cold.

Fabian’s eyes were as adoring as they’d always been as he carefully positioned himself against her, but they lacked the warmth and sparkle she’d come to love. Everyone’s had lately. James’ especially.

“Stop thinking about that,” Fabian said softly, carefully leaning down to nuzzle against her.

“I don’t think I can.”

“You have to.”

He sat back, pulling her with him when her breathing started to go shaky. Held her against his chest so she could feel exactly how she’d need to shift, but gently stopped her when she tried.

“Not like this. We can wait, the way James and Rosemary are.”

She shook her head. James and Rosemary were why they _couldn_ _’t_ wait. “Noah said it’ll work better if my magic is stronger.”

He’d also said that wasn’t good enough reason. That if she was afraid or only doing it for Rosemary it wouldn’t work. That it could make her magic weaker, maybe permanently. She hadn’t told Fabian that part.

She hadn’t told him, but he seemed to know anyway, carefully pulling her down to lay across his chest with his hand firmly on her hip.

“I have sisters,” he said, “remember? Marjorie’s magic was weak all of her first year because she was too nervous to tell her first boy she wasn’t ready.”

Rosalind hadn’t known that. Nor that the Prewett books were as careful as the Potter ones to make sure wizards knew how important it was to always make sure witches felt safe and comfortable. She probably should have, James and Fabian were third cousins once removed and it had been Potter magic that had given the family their Earldom, back before the Norman Conquest, but she hadn’t.

She cuddled closer into Fabian now that he was soft, taking care to watch where she put her knees.

“I want to. Really, even if Mary wasn’t sick. I just…”

Couldn’t stop thinking about Rosemary. Pale and weak and tired all the time, rarely even asking to sit in her courtyard anymore. She was older by over an hour, they technically had different Jewish birthdays because Rosemary had been born before sunset and Rosalind after, but somehow Rosalind had always thought of her as younger. Her baby sister, who needed her magic to be as strong as it could be so the tiny piece she gave would work better.

“What if it doesn’t work.”

Fabian reached behind his head, plucking Lady Leona from her spot and handing her to Rosalind. “It’ll work.”

“What if —” She closed her eyes and forced herself to swallow. It was possible. Noah had said it was. “What if I lose my magic?”

“I’ll have to ask James how Rosemary made his necklace.”

Rosalind couldn’t have helped the way she threw herself at Fabian to bury her face against his neck even if she’d wanted to. She hadn’t thought it would matter, not really. Not with a platinum necklace from any boy, or any necklace from a Prewett, but especially not to Fabian. It still helped to hear him say it. Still soothed a fear she hadn’t really known she’d had.

She moved to burrow closer against his chest, stopping with a grimace when the movement made her more aware of the dried sticky across her stomach. Fabian frowned at her for a moment before following her eyes and blushing brighter than anyone she’d ever seen.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her from the bed, “we can at least have a bath.”

What followed wasn’t quite what she’d imagined. Wasn’t a day that started with being kissed awake and ended with Fabian’s necklace pressing against her back as they fell asleep. But when he pressed his forehead against hers, giving her time to adjust as he gathered himself after easing inside her, absolutely nothing was on her mind except how much she wanted the moment to never end.

* * *

James had had pieces of his magic extracted before. He’d insisted on it for Rosemary’s courtship bracelet, infusing the metals with his magic and enough protective charms to keep her safe no matter where she went. It had been a slow, painful process, but it had been worth the effort because he knew it would help.

Extracting his magic for Noah was easy in comparison. A simple incantation, focus on the life he wanted to have with Rosemary, and let his magic flow into the odd phial Noah held. It took five minutes and left him only barely more tired than a difficult duelling lesson. Rosalind had had to go through worse, having a frighteningly large needle shoved into her hip so that Noah could combine the muggle and magical treatments.

James still preferred the more tiring version. At least then he’d known immediately that it had worked. There hadn’t been the hours of waiting he was now forced to endure. Hours of feeling Rosemary’s breath against his neck, wondering if each one would be the last.

He thought he would know if it was. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t. Impossible for their magic to be strong enough to send him nightmares when she was in danger before they’d ever met, but nothing at all now.

He hadn’t had nightmares when she’d gotten sicker though. Not a single one. Not even when she’d visibly worsened and he was sure he’d never be able to forget how frighteningly ill she looked. Maybe the magic was different, now that they were older and had begun their binding. He didn’t know. He’d been far too afraid to ask.

He’d asked when she would wake, early in the waiting. Then stopped somewhere around the twelfth hour because the answer was always the same: they didn’t know. When she was ready. When her body had adjusted to the transfusions.

James was not the only one who hadn’t asked what would happen if it never did.

* * *

Fabian had been the first one to learn how to read the coloured lights of the monitoring charms Noah used. He’d watched them when Rosalind couldn’t, too busy trying not to think about how she and Rosemary no longer looked perfectly identical. Now he whispered to her about them, telling her how this one was Rosemary’s heartbeat and that one was her temperature and those two brightest ones were her bonds with James and Rosalind.

Those were the lights Rosalind watched. The twisting red that was Rosemary’s bond with James, flaring almost white when he pushed more magic at her and falling to the exact shade of the Potter line when he was finally unable to stay awake. Shifting golden-red for their twin bond, what Fabian said their hair looked like in bright sunlight, always a steady pulse. She’d asked Noah if she could press her magic into Rosemary the way James did, had begged him to show her how only to be told that twin bonds and courtship bonds were different. Her bone marrow was just as important, according to Noah. He and Healer Al-Najjar had spent years trying to make the muggle treatment safe for her because it was so important.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to watch James at least have something to focus on while all Rosalind could do was watch.

She let Fabian pull her onto his lap. It wasn’t something they did often the way James and Rosemary did. Their magic didn’t encourage them to always be wrapped up in each other, not unless one of them was sick or upset. Their bonds weren’t the same. It was something she’d come to appreciate, even if she still sometimes worried that maybe they weren’t as well suited as they thought.

That wasn’t something she could worry about when Fabian was lifting and carrying her to the bed, setting her down beside Rosemary before climbing in to cuddle behind her. Not when she’d just been trying to decide between staying with him and being closer to her sister.

* * *

Rosemary woke to a blinding light, deafening screech, and wave of magic she couldn’t place the source of it. It was familiar, but different. Maybe Noah’s sister had come to visit. She didn’t entirely care as long as the screeching stopped.

It did nearly as soon as she’d had the thought, leaving her sighing with relief as she buried her face closer against Jamie’s neck to block out more of the light. He was always so lovely and warm, like her own personal furnace. Even more when his magic wrapped tight around her so that she felt like she was in a wonderful cocoon of love and adoration. She really did have the best intended ever.

* * *

It took long minutes for James to be able to see past the afterimages the sudden flare of the monitoring charms had caused. When he had, all he could do was stare.

There was green twisting with the Potter red that was his bond with Rosemary. Vibrant green, a bit bluer than Slytherin green. What her eyes might look like if the colour were deeper.

“Is that…”

“Magic.” Noah’s voice was awed, his wand casting all manner of spells even as he stared at the lights. “Strong, healthy magic. Bloody — I never thought it’d _work_!”

What Noah hadn’t thought would work, James never found out. He seemed to shake himself out of his stupor then, summoning a series of potions and ordering them all to drink.

“ _No one_ can know about this,” he said, “I’ve already spoken with your parents. It’s too dangerous. Rosemary has always been as much a witch as Rosalind, her magic was just timid.”

James nodded, swallowing his potion without complaint. On the other side of Rosemary, Fabian and Rosalind did the same. He settled Rosemary more comfortably against him as Noah sent an elf for Mother and Father. His questions about when she would wake again could wait a minute or two. What was important was that she _had_. She would again. Soon. He was sure of it.

* * *

The ritual should have been performed at Brecknock, since Fabian was a Prewett wizard and Rosalind had never been officially adopted into the Potter magic. She was kneeling under Wilereykos anyway, exchanging glances with Rosemary and trying her best not to giggle. The magic Father had used to keep James and Rosemary’s courtship secret meant that they could do their ritual again — properly this time. Fabian had agreed to a shared ritual when Rosemary had offered to make up for having done the first one in secret.

Just this once. They’d already decided what ritual they wanted for the betrothal and it was one everyone else was decidedly _not_ invited to.

She raised her wand, pressing it to her ring. Twisting platinum and gold with diamonds and a central sapphire, designed to give the impression of a flower in the Prewett tradition of rings inspired by the witches who wore them. It was probably her favourite part of the set Fabian had commissioned, even more than the gem having changed from a ruby with the surprise that they would found the matriarchal Prewett and patriarchal Cohen lines.

Rosemary was thrilled about starting a new line. Loved her courtship set steeped in centuries of Potter tradition. Both she and James had stacks of pictures of properties to look at as soon as their courtship was properly announced. The first celebration for Rosemary’s line was likely to be the most elaborate in centuries, a full fortnight of balls and parties and a charity quidditch tournament.

But Rosalind didn’t need centuries of Potter or Prewett tradition. Fabian’s only request for the first events that would celebrate their lines was that they please not last more than a weekend. She closed her eyes, trying to call up everything that reminded her of him as she let her magic flow through her wand. What she was sure he had done when commissioning her courtship set, each and every piece designed entirely from scratch just for her. He had to have been thinking about it long before his birthday to have given it to her so soon after.

Rosalind had had more than two years to consider what she wanted his set to look like. Two years in which to obsess over details and show ideas to Rosemary and punch Gideon when he tried to steal the diary she’d kept the sketches in. The suggestion of a gem — orange sapphire instead of the patriarchal Prewett ruby — being held by a lion’s paws was everything she’d hoped for.

And it made Fabian laugh, a low, delighted laugh before he leaned forward to kiss her. It was a laugh that seemed to exist only for her. She was looking forward to seeing just how often she could draw it out. Possibly starting with telling him about her wand core, which Mr Ollivander had said came from the unicorn herd at Brecknock.

That would be later though. Once she was ready to move away from the comfort of Fabian’s arms wrapping around her to pull her closer. Which didn’t feel like it would be for a good, long time.

She gasped at the feeling of ice being shoved down the back of her robes, her magic lashing out for a moment before she regained control of it.

“ROSEMARY!”

Rosemary smiled at her from just out of reach. How her wand was already entirely out of sight, Rosalind would never know.

“What?” she asked. “Are you having trouble with the courtship magic? I thought it was _only_ a little bond.”

Fabian was still laughing as he held Rosalind back from chasing after Rosemary when she darted away. “Told you having a twin with magic was annoying sometimes. Don’t worry, I charmed their bed to make rude noises.”

Rosalind had to laugh at that. Rosemary seemed to be making up for years of teasing about her and James’ bond all at once, but Fabian was always one step ahead. She turned to give him another kiss. 

“I love you.”

“ _Duh_.”


	3. Not So Brotherly Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > But then, if she were a witch he’d not have met her until September or Mother and Father might have adopted her like they had Sarah and Wendy and everything would be different.
> 
> How things might have been different if Rosemary had had magic from the start. This one with her being adopted by Fleamont and Euphemia.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Underage sex comparable to the main fic, romantic relationship between adopted siblings, non-graphic reference to unwanted sexual contact, similarly brief allusions to sexual assault and socially-sanctioned twincest
> 
> Also, if you've not read up to Rosemary's Sorting in CoA, this'll have spoilers for that.

**11 and 9**

James didn’t bother trying to hide his scowl. He’d been asking for siblings for nearly as long as he could remember, had wanted a little brother from the time he understood that most families had more than one child. And now, when he’d finally stopped caring because he was going to Hogwarts in a few months anyway, now his parents decided to replace him.

It didn’t matter that Father had found the girls when looking for his birthday gifts. Didn’t matter that them being here meant that there were also two muggle girls somewhere in Linfred waiting to be given to him. He didn’t _want_ younger sisters. Not anymore.

“James,” Father sighed, “give them a chance. You never know, you might like them once you get to know them.”

He wouldn’t, he was sure of it. He allowed himself to be led into the family room anyway. It wasn’t as though he had any real choice in the matter. But just because Mother and Father wanted him to meet these girls who were going to replace him, didn’t mean he had to like them. He was determined not to.

For a moment he was sure that would be easy. There were only two girls in the room when they arrived, despite Father telling him there would be three. Sarah, a few months younger than him and so shy she could barely meet his eyes. Wendy, recently eight, she looked up at him with big blue eyes that almost, _almost_ made him want to reconsider hating her.

Then Hatty popped in with the third girl and James felt as though time stopped. She was so small, smaller than Wendy even though Father had said Wendy was the youngest. He found himself walking toward her without realising.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, once he was standing in front of her. It was awful seeing her cry, never mind that James had obviously never seen her any other way.

The girl sniffled, rubbing her fists against her eyes until James handed her a handkerchief.

“I want to stay with Becca, but your mum says I can’t because I’m a witch and Becca’s not. I don’t think I _am_ a witch, witches are mean and old and ugly, but your mum says I am and I don’t want to be if it means I can’t stay with Becca, even if she’s cross with me now because your mum told her I can do magic and she can’t.” 

The girl looked up at him, bright aqua green eyes making his breath catch in his throat. 

“If I promise not to do magic can I stay with Becca? Please?”

“I don’t think so,” James tried not to flinch when his words made the girl start crying again, “but you can stay with me, if you don’t want to stay by yourself.”

“James —”

James ignored Father’s attempt to interrupt. Likely to say it wasn’t appropriate, that if the girl was afraid she could share with Wendy or Sarah. He didn’t want her to stay with Wendy or Sarah. She belonged with him. He wasn’t sure why, but she did.

The girl peered at him for a moment, giving him a chance to look her over. Strawberry blonde hair, white dress and bow similar to Sarah and Wendy’s, but somehow hers made him want to see what she would look like sitting in his lap after he’d run his hands through her hair. The thought made his face heat as he curled his fingers into fists to keep from touching her.

“If I stay with you could we visit Becca?”

“Any time you want.”

He could hear Mother protesting the promise. He didn’t care. If this girl wanted to see whoever Becca was, he would find a way to make it possible. She had to be in Linfred somewhere, maybe one of his birthday gifts. Hatty could take them to visit. If the girl still wanted to after he’d shown her the grounds and horses and maybe seen if he could convince Mother to allow her one of the kittens the Abraxan trainer’s kneazle had recently had.

The girl smiled, throwing her arms around her waist. 

“My name’s Rosemary,” she said, “and I like you much more than your mum.”

* * *

“No.”

James crossed his arms, ignoring Father’s pleas. He didn’t need a coming of age. Not if it meant Rosemary had to move into her own rooms instead of sharing his. He didn’t see what the fuss was all about anyway. Not anymore. It couldn’t be any better than when Rosemary crawled into his bed because she’d had a nightmare or was afraid of a storm.

He certainly didn’t want to shag Rebecca, who he’d gotten to know as Rosemary’s sister. She looked like Rosemary might in a year or two and that alone was enough to make James uncomfortable with how quickly his thoughts of her shifted to images of Rosemary clutching his hair as he tasted her. Add to that what he’d learnt of her experiences at the orphanage and James would rather shag Sarah or Wendy.

“She will be moving out of your rooms regardless.”

James’ head snapped up at Father’s tone. Hard and unyielding, it made James want to grab Rosemary and run as far as he could.

“It’s time, James. Your Mother and I should never have allowed it to begin with.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t see the problem. Rosemary enjoyed staying with him and he enjoyed having her near. They spent nearly every moment together, any time they didn’t have separate lessons. No one made him happy the way Rosemary did. Not even Wendy, for all that she was beginning to grow on him.

“It’s not appropriate. Not for boys and girls your age.”

Father didn’t elaborate. Nor did he waver when Rosemary clung to James, their magic combining into a storm that nearly took down his suite. She was moved into rooms on the other end of the wing. Rebecca was sent to James’ rooms, though he simply pointed her to the spare bedroom that had appeared with her and retreated to his own bed.

That night Hatty arrived with Rosemary, pressing a finger to her lips when James opened his mouth to question her.

* * *

First year was a nightmare. It had taken all of a week before word spread that James Potter, the only Potter son, had no interest in sharing his bed with anyone. Another week before it was known that he’d refused his coming of age. A week after that for Father to write reminding him of his duties to the family.

James burnt the letter beneath his cauldron. When he found a witch who made him as happy to talk to as Rosemary did, then maybe he’d consider shagging them. Until then, the traditions could go hang.

There were at least a few classmates who didn’t shun him for being uninterested in bedding every witch who would have him. Alice Prince, a sweet girl in his year who reminded him of Rosemary. Remus Lupin, one of his roommates who also hadn’t had a coming of age. And Daniel Goldstein, a second year Slytherin who had surprised him by catching him on his way to the Great Hall one day and offering his support if he ever wanted someone else to talk to who didn’t follow the usual traditions.

Goldstein had been the one to notice how frequent his letters to and from Rosemary were. Far more frequent than the ones he exchanged with the rest of his family.

“She’s the reason you didn’t want a coming of age, isn’t she?”

The question was sudden, even as it wasn’t. James had rather been expecting it for weeks now. He simply thought Goldstein wouldn’t have waited until they were sitting on the train back for winter hols to ask.

“It didn’t seem worth it,” James answered honestly, “and when I tried to think of having her sister…”

He couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but Goldstein seemed to understand anyway.

“My brother’s engaged to our adopted brother,” he said. “Our family adopts muggles instead of giving them to us as gifts, Asher was adopted right before Gabe was eleven. I was only two so he’s always been my brother to me, but Mum and Ta caught them together the summer after Gabe finished Hogwarts.”

“What’d they do?”

Goldstein shrugged. “It was a mess for a while, but Gabe and Asher said they’d never thought of each other as brothers. They ran away when Mum and Ta tried to separate them. We didn’t hear from them for close to a year, not until Gabe ended up in St Mungo’s with dragonpox and Asher couldn’t get in to visit. Everything was mostly alright after that. Ta even helped Gabe look for a ring when he wanted to propose.”

It was that conversation that was running through James’ head when he stepped out of the floo to find Rosemary waiting for him. She was absolutely perfect in a white dress with red sash and red hair bow, leaping into his arms and peppering his cheeks with kisses.

She wasn’t his sister.

Sarah was his sister, he was perfectly happy to have not helped her through her coming of age. Wendy was his sister, his baby sister who he wanted to protect more than almost anything. Rosemary was decidedly not his sister.

It was a realisation that made the holidays difficult, even more than they normally would have been with Father disappointed in him and Mother trying to prod him into talking to her. Hatty continued bringing Rosemary to his bed every night. Every night James found himself more aware of how Rosemary felt cuddled into his side. How easy it would be to raise the hem of her nightdress just slightly, just enough that he could slip his fingers beneath her knickers.

He restrained himself, though just barely. Rosemary hadn’t yet been given her training books. He’d convinced Mother to wait until summer, when she’d almost certainly immediately come running to him with questions. James wouldn’t do anything that might frighten her in the meantime.

Even if it did mean he found himself taking rather more frequent showers than he would normally.

**12 and 10**

Summer saw James stepping out of the floo with Lily Evans, a perfectly nice muggleborn girl with a knack for charms. He missed Rosemary’s scowl as he was busy assisting Lily over the slight step in front of the fireplace, but he certainly heard her begin to stomp away.

“Don’t I get a hug?”

“No!”

James stared as Rosemary stalked out of the floo room, magic crackling around her clenched fists.

It took him a minute to ensure one of the house elves was available to show Lily her room, then another to realise Rosemary hadn’t gone to his rooms as expected. Nor was she in her own rooms when he checked. He had to call Hatty to find her in the heir suite. 

Or rather, what remained of the heir suite. Rosemary was in the midst of smashing a vase when he walked in, her magic doing even more damage as it thrashed around her.

“Shouldn’t you be in your _bed_ with _that girl_?”

Rosemary didn’t turn when she asked the question, nor did she stop destroying everything she could reach. It was enough of a distraction that James didn’t understand what she’d asked until after she toppled over the table the vase had been sitting on.

Then he found himself laughing. Hard enough that Rosemary spun around to glare at him, her hands curled into fists on her hips. She looked so perfectly adorable he couldn’t help but smile as he slowly walked towards her.

“Lily is a friend,” he said, “ _only_ a friend. I invited her because Father wanted me to bring someone and she already knows the traditions so I only had to explain why I didn’t want to follow them.”

“So you’re not going to shag her?”

“Of course not,” James made sure his disgust with the idea was clear in his voice, “how do you even know about that anyway?”

Rosemary blushed, a wonderful sight that made James think of what she might look like with him buried deep inside her. He forced himself to put it out of his mind, at least for now.

“I peeked inside Sarah’s books,” she admitted. “Mother said I had to wait for summer, but Wendy got hers at Christmas and she’s younger than me so…”

James shook his head, pulling Rosemary into a hug. She was definitely not going to Sort Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw, possibly, but not Hufflepuff and likely not Gryffindor.

“I asked Mother to wait to give you the training books. I thought,” James cleared his throat in the hopes his voice wouldn’t crack, “I thought you might want to talk about what’s in them. If you’d rather not talk to Mother or Rebecca.”

This time Rosemary was the one to shake her head and for a moment James felt his heart sink. He’d thought that her reaction to Lily meant…but maybe she was just jealous of sharing her older brother. She’d never had to before, not really. And just because James wanted her as something other than a sister didn’t mean she had to feel the same way. Even if he’d been sure she did.

He started to pull away, glad that he’d at least brought Lily for summer instead of no one as he’d originally planned. She was pretty and funny and he could see himself fancying her a little, if he tried. If nothing else, she’d be a distraction so that he didn’t do anything that might frighten or hurt Rosemary.

“Jamie?” James smiled at the pet name only Rosemary ever used. “Is it bad if I want you for my birthday?”

James could only shake his head, too busy willing down the part of him that had taken a definite interest in Rosemary’s question to say anything. It wasn’t bad. Wasn’t bad at all. Was, in fact, the most perfect thing James could imagine. He’d be counting down the days until her birthday, thanking Merlin that it was in summer when he’d already be home from school.

* * *

Mother and Father, of course, did not agree with his answer.

“Absolutely not.” 

Mother was firm in the way she only ever was when there was no chance of changing her mind. James ignored it.

“But she asked for me. Isn’t it more important for witches to feel safe their first time?”

“She can have a wizard, the way Sarah did and Wendy will.”

Rosemary declined every wizard put in front of her. Every last one, even Remus who James had to admit would have been a choice he approved of in other circumstances.

It was a long summer. One in which Mother and Father did everything they could to ensure James and Rosemary were never alone together. If not for Hatty bringing Rosemary to his room every night James thought he would have gone quite mad. The stolen moments of cuddling and talking before they fell asleep were by far the best part of his day. The only times that came close were when he woke early enough to enjoy the sight of Rosemary asleep in his arms before Hatty had to whisk her back to her room so that Mother and Father wouldn’t notice her absence.

* * *

Second year was much the same as first, with two large exceptions. First, that James suddenly found himself having to all but force away witches attempting to climb into his bed or accost him in the corridors. The third night back he woke to Madeline Selwyn’s mouth around him. It had felt brilliant and awful all at once, as though he were somehow betraying Rosemary despite her not yet being old enough to court. James took to putting wards around his bed before falling asleep.

It was the second change that truly bothered him though. He could resign himself to fighting off over-eager witches, especially after Alice informed him that Black had put out a hundred galleon reward for the first witch to convince him to give up his self-imposed celibacy. It was far more difficult to accept the sudden decrease in letters from Rosemary.

Mother hadn’t allowed her to see him to the station. She’d had lessons, apparently. Lessons Wendy did not appear to have. James got on the train without a word to any of them and had only written to Rosemary.

She’d written back four times in a month.

At first James told himself she was likely busy. Or perhaps Ardeo wasn’t staying long enough for her to send a response. Sarah was receiving quite a few letters, maybe Wendy kept sending the family owls off without checking to see if Rosemary needed them.

By November he’d run out of ideas. Rosemary still wrote, every Saturday morning brought a new letter detailing her week. But it wasn’t the near daily letters she’d written the year before, nor were they as long and full of random thoughts and dreams that he could hear in her perfect, clear voice as though she were sitting next to him. James found himself writing less. Withdrawing into sterile accounts of lessons and quidditch matches as though she were a stranger.

He still didn’t write to anyone else. Least of all Mother and Father. Nor did he go home for Christmas that year, choosing instead to take Goldstein’s offer of meeting his brothers.

That decision turned out to be far better than he ever could have hoped. James stepped out of the Goldsteins’ floo to find Hatty standing with a stack of letters taller than her.

“Mistress Potter is not letting Mistress Rosemary write to Master James unless is it is being Friday,” she explained, her voice tinged with disapproval James hadn’t realised house elves could have, “and she is reading Mistress Rosemary’s letters to be being sure they is appropriate. Hatty is saving all of Mistress Rosemary’s _real_ letters, but Master Potter is not letting Hatty go to Hogwarts to give them to Master James. Hatty is having all of Mistress Rosemary’s letters here so Master James is reading all of them _right now_.”

It took all of a minute to make sure the Goldsteins didn’t mind James hiding away in his borrowed room for the evening to read Rosemary’s letters. They were everything her other letters hadn’t been and more. Each one filled with her usual rambling, but also how much she was looking forward to her birthday. How she’d asked Hatty to find a way to make sure they could be together even if Mother and Father disapproved. By the time James went down for supper the only thing keeping him from being happier than he’d ever been was the knowledge that Mother and Father were trying to keep him and Rosemary apart.

“Good letters then?” Gabriel asked.

James nodded around the delicious roast Mrs Goldstein had made. Better than good. Wonderful, perfect, the best Christmas gift he could have gotten.

“I, um,” Gabriel glanced nervously at his parents, “I know a couple of charms you might like. One to link two diaries so you can write back and forth and another so anyone who looks thinks they’re just whatever book they think you should be reading.”

“Asher Flemming!” Mrs Goldstein’s voice was a mix of scolding and amused. “Is that why you were always grinning when I thought you were revising for your exams?”

It was and James found himself hoping that maybe one day Mother and Father would accept him and Rosemary the way the Goldsteins had learnt to accept Gabriel and Asher. Especially when Daniel’s oldest brother — who was a Healer _and_ an Unspeakable — gave him a book on magical bonds he said might help explain why some bonds too strong for others to interfere with.

Spring was easier than autumn, especially once Rosemary suggested he pretend to have an interest in a witch. Alice was happy to oblige and soon Rosemary was allowed to send two letters a week, though they were both still reviewed first. More importantly, James stopped having to ward his bed as Alice was a terrifying witch once you saw past the gentle exterior. It was enough that James decided to go home for spring hols, if only to feel Rosemary asleep next to him again.

Mother and Father were thrilled until he continued to refuse to speak to them. He made nice with his sisters, put in an effort to appear simply a doting brother to Rosemary (at her suggestion), attended every lesson Father set. But he politely avoided every attempt at what could be considered a personal conversation. It was their own fault, he reasoned, for not having bothered to read the copy of the book he’d sent them.

Summer once again saw Lily stepping out of the floo with him, though this time Rosemary launched herself at him, nearly making him fall over before he caught his balance.

“Mother wants Robert Macmillan to be my first,” she said between kisses to his cheeks and James had to push down the flare of magic that wanted to erupt at the thought of Rob getting to find out what Rosemary liked before he did.

He set Rosemary down, absently noting that she was closer to his height than she used to be.

“If Rob goes anywhere near you just scream for Hatty,” he said. “She’ll get me and I’ll thrash him. I promise.”

Rosemary never needed to call Hatty. The minute Rob arrived in her rooms her magic lashed out, wrapping around her so that he was doused with icy water any time he came within arm’s length. Mother and Father sent him home after it became clear that no amount of time with him would change her mind. By the end of summer she’d sent away nearly every pureblood wizard between the ages of 12 and 14. James bought her a set of Irish bagpipes to celebrate.

**13 and 11**

For a horrible, terrifying month James was worried Mother and Father would send Rosemary to Beauxbatons. Correction, for a month James was _certain_ Mother and Father would send Rosemary to Beauxbatons. They’d bought her a Beauxbatons uniform and French textbooks and were arranging for her to arrive by Abraxan carriage.

Then the owl arrived confirming her transfer back to Hogwarts only a day before the term started, far too late for Mother and Father to do anything about it. James was not remotely surprised when the hat declared her for Slytherin.

He waited for her outside the Great Hall the next morning with pastries and cocoa and an Inkasia’s box hidden in a pocket of his robes. Mother and Father were going to kill him for this. James wasn’t entirely thrilled with it himself. He’d far prefer being able to do it properly, the way Rosemary deserved, but they’d taken that option away from him.

So he led Rosemary to a tree near the banks of the lake that reminded him of Wilereykos. Spread a blanket beneath its branches and pulled her to rest against his chest as they nibbled on their light breakfast. Then watched her face light up when she took in the twisting platinum and gold chain he placed around her neck with a spell so that only she could take it off. It lacked the crest that she rightfully deserved, but no one could stop him from giving her platinum. Not even Father.

“The ring hasn’t gotten here yet,” he apologised, “but I checked the family books. We can do the ritual here if you want.”

Rosemary didn’t answer, instead turning in his lap so that she could press her lips to his.

James’ magic rose around them, mixing with what he quickly recognised as Rosemary’s magic to create a sensation of warm rain pattering against their skin without leaving them cold and wet. It took more control than James liked to admit to keep from sliding his hands beneath her robes, more effort to not lay her against the blanket so he could feel a little of what Sirius and Peter constantly bragged about.

Instead he focused on the feel of her, how she mewled quietly when he nipped at her bottom lip. The way she kept her eyes mostly closed when he pulled away to nuzzle his nose against hers. The warmth of her breath against his face as he leaned in for more, feeling as though he’d never mange to get his fill of her taste and touch.

They nearly forgot to confirm the courtship, too busy learning what made each other gasp or sigh. Only when the grounds started to fill with other students enjoying the mild early autumn weather did they pull apart long enough to remember that James still needed his necklace.

Then there was laughter and further kissing, James pulling Rosemary even tighter against him despite the fact that Sarah could potentially come out and see them. A new line. It didn’t matter what Mother and Father thought, not when James’ pendant carried the mark of a new line.

There were whispers when they eventually made their way back to the castle, especially after dinner when the rest of the parcels from Inkasia’s arrived. The pendants could be tucked under robes, at least until James had a chance to write Father, but there was no mistaking a Maricoxi cloak.

James bore the worst of it, the Slytherins being more aware of the old tradition of fostering a future husband or wife with their spouse’s family. It wasn’t a tradition often practised anymore, too many of the matches viewing each other as siblings rather than romantic partners, but it was well known enough that the few comments were quickly shut down by older students congratulating Rosemary on making a powerful match so young.

A week later they each received letters just short of howlers demanding they not perform the ritual. Neither responded. Nor did James attend the meeting Father attempted to arrange for the first Hogsmeade weekend, instead staying at school to spend the weekend with Rosemary.

* * *

James smiled as he opened his eyes to Rosemary curled against him, her lips nearly grazing his cheek. It had taken less than a second’s consideration to accept Uncle Charlus’ offer for them to spend Christmas with him, especially when he offered his grounds for the courtship and betrothal rituals.

Properly they should wait for Mother and Father’s permission. There was likely little James could do to get himself disowned short of marrying a muggle, but getting himself betrothed without approval was close. Taking Rosemary as his betrothed may well push it over the edge.

He didn’t care. Linfred wasn’t enough to give up Rosemary for. The more he talked with Gabriel and Asher and Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea, the more he was convinced that there was nothing in the world worth giving up Rosemary for.

Which was why he’d knelt in a clearing with Uncle Charlus, Aunt Dorea, and Cousin Philip watching as Rosemary pressed her wand to her ring to make their courtship public. It was why he’d endured the letter that had come from Father the next morning and held Rosemary as she cried from the letter Mother had sent her. Why they’d gone back to the clearing that night to sign the betrothal agreement, not bothering with the traditional fortnight of waiting in between. There was no one else for either of them, James was absolutely sure of it.

And now he could feel as Rosemary woke, sensed the shift in her magic before she opened her eyes. It was a little thing, but one that thrilled him, being able to tell when she was near and whether she was asleep or awake simply through their magic. He could only imagine how much more he would love the other changes that came with their engagement and bonding.

Uncle Charlus had told them not to feel obligated to visit if the magic wasn’t settled enough, offering up a house elf for their use. James had thought it unnecessary until just after the ritual, when the thought of anyone so much as touching Rosemary made his magic jump under his skin. He was even more grateful for it now, as Rosemary pulled him close for a sleepy kiss.

They’d not done anything more than kiss, despite being betrothed. James hadn’t wanted their first time to be in an alcove at Hogwarts and in the two days since being at Uncle Charlus’ they’d both been content to enjoy the novelty of being near each other without having to hide or endure comments.

Now James carefully ran his hand down Rosemary’s back until he could cup her bum, pulling her closer against him. She shifted in response, sliding her leg across his hip so that he could feel himself pressing just slightly against her core.

When he slipped his hand beneath her nightdress he found she wasn’t wearing knickers.

Rosemary was blushing when he pulled back to stare at her, not quite meeting his eyes as she fiddled with his necklace.

“I thought…” she trailed off, biting her lip so that for a moment all James could think of was the indentation her teeth made and the softness of her bum under his hand.

“I want to,” she said, finally looking up at him. “With you. I wanted to for my birthday, but Mother said I couldn’t because you’re my brother except you’re _not_ my brother, not really. We couldn’t be betrothed if you were, the magic wouldn’t let us, not unless we were twins, so Mother and Father are wrong and we can, if you want to.”

James couldn’t speak. Almost couldn’t breathe with the thought of finally, finally, _finally_ seeing Rosemary bare and flushed with arousal under him. He knew, logically, that it would have to happen at some point for them to create a new line. Knew that they’d both wanted for it to be on her birthday months ago. He just hadn’t thought to hope for anything this holiday, no matter that Uncle Charlus obviously more than approved.

He surged forward, claiming Rosemary’s lips as he rolled her under him, delighting in the way she gasped when he bit just under her ear. He had her nightdress and his nightshirt and underthings off before he realised what he was doing and forced himself to still, resting his forehead against hers.

“Sorry,” he whispered, still slightly out of breath from how desperately he’d needed to mark her. “I — I never — Not even at school.”

He’d thought the admission would be terrible. It probably would have been with anyone else. The only other boys he knew of at Hogwarts who hadn’t were Remus and Daniel and Daniel was likely to marry the muggle girl his parents had adopted in lieu of a traditional coming of age. Any other girl would have expected that he knew what he was doing. Would have almost demanded it, in fact, especially if it was their first time.

Instead Rosemary beamed at him, pulling him down for a kiss that made him moan and thrust against her.

“Good,” she said once they’d stopped to catch their breath. “Mother said she saw you kissing Lily in the library and —”

She cut off, blushing, and James suddenly remembered that Lily had spent the last days of summer refusing to come out of her rooms. He never had found out why, but when they left for the train her previously waist length hair had been cut to a bob that fell just above her shoulders.

“What did you do?”

Rosemary shook her head, kissing him again. James would have liked to say he was able to remember why she was trying to distract him, but the moment she moaned softly into his mouth he forgot all about Lily.

Instead he found himself caught up in the feel and taste of Rosemary. The way her hips canted against his, just enough that he could feel her rubbing against him. The tiny gasps and sighs and whimpers as he began to learn how she liked to be touched. The salty coolness of her skin when he lapped at her neck and shoulder, torn between trailing further down her body and staying where he could feel the heat building between them.

He came quickly and suddenly, all but collapsing from the unexpected wave. It took him long moments before he was recovered enough to realise Rosemary hadn’t. Was still whimpering and rubbing against him. He was hard again faster than he’d thought possible, the sight and sound and feel of her combining to make him wonder if he’d ever be fully soft again.

He couldn’t say he’d mind it if he wasn’t.

The sight of Rosemary under him, her legs spread wide to better allow him to slide between her folds, was somehow better than he’d thought it would be. She was flushed and panting, her eyes glazed with need when she looked up at him. If not for the fear of finishing before her a second time James would have given in to the need to feel her body wrapped as closely around him as it could be.

Instead he flipped them over, guiding Rosemary’s hips until she caught on and began to grind against him. She was almost overwhelmingly beautiful like this. Mouthing at wherever she could reach between mewls and whimpers that went straight to his groin, rolling her hips so that he could feel her against his full length, her movement aided by their combined arousal. 

James had expected her to sit up, to balance herself with her hands on his chest and throw her head back as he’d glimpsed McKinnon doing with Black one time when the wanker hadn’t properly sealed his curtains closed. He’d thought he’d watch her lips part and her hair cascade down her back, enchanting golden-red curls moving with her thrusts. 

This was better.

This allowed him to tangle his fingers in her hair as she stretched to kiss him. It let him feel her chest pressed against his when she clung to him. Let him hold her tight as her movements sped and the drag of her against him made him see spots from trying so hard to hold back until she tensed and gasped, the sensation of her clit throbbing against him almost going unnoticed under the way he gave in to the urge to thrust wildly up until he spent himself between them.

He might have dozed for a little after that. It was hard to tell. He only knew that after what seemed a short, but hazily pleasant time Rosemary moved to lay on the bed and tugged him atop her. Which he wasn’t complaining about. Especially not when she responded to the soft kisses he couldn’t help but trail down her neck by sighing and spreading her legs so that he was nestled comfortably against her.

“Are you sure?” he asked, once he decided he wouldn’t embarrass himself. Probably. He hoped.

Rosemary nodded, though she looked concerned enough that James pulled back.

“We don’t have to. We can,” he blushed, not quite able to meet her eyes, “do other things. Or nothing. I don’t mind, really.”

He didn’t, even if he was more than a little relieved when Rosemary pulled him down for a kiss. There was very little James wanted more than to feel what it was like to sink as deeply into her as he could, but one of those things was to see her always happy and safe. He’d wait if he had to. It wasn’t as though it’d be forever.

“I want to,” Rosemary whispered, though she looked at his lips rather than his eyes, “but Becca said it hurts a lot. She said the books probably just don’t say it because they don’t want it to be scary.”

The reminder of Rebecca and what Rosemary had so narrowly escaped quickly took care of any issues James might have had with waiting.

“It doesn’t have to hurt. Not when you want to and go slow. If it hurts even a little, tell me. I’ll stop, I promise.” James flushed, thinking of all the times Rosemary could change her mind. “It might take me a minute, but I’ll stop.”

Rosemary laughed at that, one of her clear, high giggles that somehow made her even more enchanting to watch. He couldn’t help but kiss her when her eyes were sparkling like that, happy and trusting and soft in a way he couldn’t place, but never wanted to share with anyone. She was his. His betrothed, no matter how Mother and Father felt about it. 

James slowly began kissing his way down her neck and along her shoulders and chest. He’d never done anything like this before, but the Potter training books were quite thorough and full of pictures. He at least had an idea of how to ensure Rosemary felt nothing but pleasure.

It was an admittedly vague idea. One that hadn’t included how difficult it would be to not immediately begin rutting against her when she gasped at the feeling of his breath ghosting across one of her peaked nipples. He found himself having to actively watch to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly or teasing too much. Carefully tracking every whisper and sigh until he was nuzzling between her legs, drinking in her scent as he tried to think of what he was supposed to do next.

“Jamie,” Rosemary breathed, drawing his attention up to her wide, darkened eyes as she looked down at him. Her skin was flushed a beautiful pink that spread down her neck. James felt his own pupils dilating as he took her in. Sleep-mussed hair and teeth worrying at her bottom lip, her fingers tightening in his hair when he absently stroked the inside of her thigh.

The training books had been barely an impressionist version of the reality of Rosemary spread before him, but he did his best to follow them anyway. Swiped his tongue along the line of her folds before carefully spreading her open for him and seeking out the part his books had said was the most important to making sure she always enjoyed herself as much as he did.

Rosemary’s sharp intake of breath went straight to his cock when he found it. Enough that he found himself rutting against the sheets as he tried to learn what she liked. How suckling made her whimper and tasting her made her sigh, but lapping along the underside of her clit was what drew out the moans and pleas for more.

She tugged him up when he carefully eased a finger inside her, nipping at his lips as she bucked against his hand. Their magic had built to a storm without his having noticed, too absorbed in trying to ensure her first time was as enjoyable as it would have been with a more experienced wizard. Better, even, because the idea of anyone else seeing or feeling his Rosemary like this made James’ magic ripple along his arms.

“Ready,” she gasped against his lips. “Please, need —”

She keened as her writhing resulted in James rubbing his palm against her just a bit harder. James dropped his head to her shoulder in the hopes of settling himself.

He shouldn’t. Not yet. He’d only barely begun to prepare her and she was so tight around his finger. It couldn’t possibly work. Not until he’d teased her open a bit more, maybe made her come another time or two. The training books were all clear about that, Potter wizards had to take extra care because of how gifted they tended to be. Younger Potters especially. The family magic tended to encourage rather concentrated growth until they were fifteen or so, they could hurt witches if they were too eager.

Rosemary was begging though, babbling as she reached for him and tried to pull him against her. She was already wet and quivering, easily accepting another finger when he slid it inside her. James carefully turned them over. It should be fine, shouldn’t it? She’d know if she were ready or not.

Except that Rosemary shook her head. Tugged at James until he was atop her again, this time pressed against the impossibly tight hole he had to tense every muscle in his body to keep from pushing into.

“Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts, even a little.”

Rosemary nodded, her eyes glazed as she rocked against him, coating him in their combined arousal. “Promise. Just — _Please_ , Jamie, need to —”

This time her keen was caused by James nudging himself just the tiniest bit into her as he realised why she was so desperate. Merlin, he was an idiot. He should have found somewhere appropriate to take her the day he’d given her her necklace, not waited so their first time was when they were drenched in magic from having their courting and betrothal rituals so close together. It was never likely to have been leisurely, not with him being a sole heir and her founding a new line and the pair of them both having put off their coming of age, but he might have at least been able to prepare her a little better.

As it was, he eased himself further inside her as slowly as he dared, watching for the least sign of discomfort. She was almost painfully tight, gripping him and drawing him in further so that he hadn’t the faintest idea how he was ever going to manage to withdraw. Not that he thought he’d want to. It was excruciating, maddening bliss of a sort he’d never imagined to feel Rosemary’s body opening for him as their magic built to soak them in relentless, steaming rain. He’d be perfectly happy to stay sheathed inside her as she moaned against his lips for the rest of time.

Then his hips were flushed with hers and he felt her magic rushing into him. Felt her wonder at the new sensation of being filled and how it turned to mixed confusion and awe as his magic entered her.

And her amusement as she felt how desperately he was trying to hold himself back. He had only a moment to recognise the mischievousness in her magic before she was wrapping her legs tight around him and flooding him with the sense of how much she wanted to know what it would be like to feel him coming as she did.

There was only one way for James to respond to that and he set himself to it. Shoved every bit of his desire to hear her cry out his name as she came at her and carefully began seeking out a rhythm that replaced her smug grin with wide eyes and breathless gasps. Gasps that filled him with her need and made it that much harder for him to hold back, but that was worth it. Worth the way she sounded panting against his ear as she clutched at him.

James had spent two years enduring every sort of comment for being unwilling to continue one of the oldest pureblood traditions. He’d fought off witches, hexed more than a few wizards, and took daily counters for lust and fertility potions. He was as estranged from Mother and Father as it was possible to be without being officially disowned.

And, as he felt Rosemary’s peak rise a bit higher from the sensation of him emptying himself inside her, he knew he wouldn’t change one second of it. Not when it had led him here. To Rosemary’s chest pressed against his, her fingers splayed across his back as they caught their breath.

He had a newly commissioned engagement set in his trunk for her. Planned to ask her for a full binding engagement on Christmas, since he hadn’t been able to ask for the binding betrothal he would have if they’d had Mother and Father’s approval. It wasn’t the Potter set, he wouldn’t risk giving her something that could be taken when he was disowned, but he’d had it made from heirlooms in his personal inheritance vaults. If everything went well, they’d be engaged before the new year.

Then he would go to Father. Would show him the mark of Rosemary’s new line and tell him of the success of their bonding — because it _would_ be successful, he could feel it in his magic — and…hope. Hope that it would be enough to finally make Mother and Father see that there was no world in which he wouldn’t have chosen Rosemary, no matter what tried to stand in his way.


	4. Of Muggles and Witches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > “Prat.” Rosemary’s magic sank as deeply into his as it could while they were still clothed, letting him feel every bit of her adoration and certainty. “I love you too much to have ever said no. Not unless you wanted me to share.”
>> 
>> Thank Merlin he’d known enough to not consider it. He might have after Evans, if he’d not already known how she would feel about it. He’d have introduced the two of them, expecting they’d get on because who couldn’t get on with Rosemary, and found himself without either. James knew himself well enough now to know he never would have asked Evans to court after losing Rosemary. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to bring himself to ask anyone, Potter responsibilities or not.
> 
> One way things might have gone if James had tried introducing Lily and Rosemary.

Rosemary stared down at the letter in her hands, not entirely sure how to process what she was reading. It didn’t make sense. James had promised no girls until he was married, none at all. Not even at Hogwarts.

Yet here she was. Trying to make sense of a letter telling her of a witch he was bringing home for her to meet. A witch he hoped could be her friend.

She already had a friend who was a witch. Three of them, even. None of them were the witch he was bringing to Linfred for the summer. They couldn’t be. Alice and Rachel both would have refused.

Rosemary shoved the letter into the bedside table of the room she’d taken to staying in since the first of Alice’s letters telling her about the girl James must mean. It was the first letter he’d ever sent her. The first after months and months of hoping even if Miss Taylor said it wouldn’t occur to him. She curled up on the bed, wishing her first letter from Jamie wasn’t something she wished she could burn.

* * *

There were whispers outside the door when she woke, her eyes gritty from having cried so much. Her door, she supposed. She expected it was where she’d be sent when James came home anyway. The girl wouldn’t want her in James’ rooms, no matter that she’d been there first.

She scrambled up when the Duchess entered the room, her hands flying to her hair and dress in the hopes of making herself at least a little more presentable.

The Duchess smiled softly, moving to wrap her arm around Rosemary’s shoulders and sitting with her on the edge of the bed. “Never you mind about that. A girl’s allowed to look a bit of a mess sometimes, especially when the wizards in her life are behaving poorly.”

Rosemary forced herself not to bite her lip as she stared at her hands. The Duchess didn’t approve, but there also didn’t seem to be anything to say. Not when the wizard behaving poorly was James. Miss Taylor had urged her to be cautious with exactly how much she allowed the Duchess to know about how Jamie made her feel. It wasn’t quite proper for muggles, she said. Girls had been sent away for growing too attached to wizards before. Not by Potters, but the Duchess was only a Potter by marriage. Miss Taylor couldn’t be sure what her feelings on it were.

So Rosemary stared at her hands, searching for something to say that wouldn’t show how often she had dreamt of being a witch just so Jamie could consider _her_ for his wife instead of the girl he was bringing home.

“Has James ever told you about his grandfather Marc and his family?”

Rosemary blinked up. She’d read at least one story from the Potter books every day because they made her feel closer to Jamie, but there were so many of them that she hadn’t gotten very far. Certainly not to James’ grandfather.

“He was his great-great-grandfather, really,” the Duchess said when Rosemary said so, “but it’s easier to say ‘grandfather’, isn’t it? Most of the families with extensive histories do.”

Rosemary listened as the Duchess told her about James’ more recent ancestors. About Susan, especially, and how she and Marc’s wife had been close friends. Close enough that the Duke referred to both Susan and Ellinor as ‘Grandmother’.

It was a sweet story. One that might have given Rosemary hope, if she thought she could accept a witch the way Susan had. As it was, she had to fight back tears at the thought of watching another girl go to James’ room every night. Watching her be taken to meet his parents and the sister Rosemary herself wasn’t yet allowed to meet because it was inappropriate. She would have everything Rosemary could never have, while also being given a share of what little she had been allowed to call her own.

“I think —” Rosemary took a breath to steady herself when her voice wavered. “I think I would like to go, please. Before James comes home, if it’s not too much trouble for you and His Grace.”

* * *

Euphemia’s magic raged around her in a hailstorm as she tried to make her husband see reason. It shook the walls of the Master War Room, destroying everything in its path except her and Fleamont himself. Fleamont who so often forgot that James’ temper and uncontrolled magic did not only come from his being a Potter.

“She wants to _leave_ , Fleamont! She asked me if there was time before James is home!”

She stepped back when Fleamont moved toward her. He would not sway her with charming smiles and soft kisses. Not about this.

“You know she will find it impossible to leave the castle,” he said, brave and utterly _stupid_ enough to try taking another step forward. “Linfred will not allow its mistress to run away. Not when it has made so clear a choice.”

“That is not the point!”

She spun around, clenching her fists to keep from reaching for her wand. She and Fleamont did not duel when they argued, as other pureblood couples often did. She had never once raised her wand to her husband in anger. She would not start now.

“I accepted Peleus Selwyn’s offer,” she said instead, keeping her voice low so that Fleamont was forced to come to her. “I had seen you and Lycoris Black and given up hope of you ever asking me. You are lucky Peleus saw I was less enthusiastic than he’d have liked and refused to accept my acceptance until I told him what was bothering me.”

Fleamont’s chest was firm against her back when he wrapped his arms around her. Firm and warm and comforting as it had been since the earliest days of their courtship. His magic wrapped around her as well, reminding her of why she was willing to have a row fierce enough to draw her magic to the surface. Marrying Fleamont had been everything she had hoped it would be, even with the difficulty they had having James.

She still wanted more for her son. She wanted him to have the bond that had already begun to build between him and Rosemary, if only the silly boy could see it. Bonds like that were too rare and precious to waste. Especially when she knew that losing it would keep James from ever being able to have what she and Fleamont did. He was too much a Potter for his magic to fully accept anyone else now that it had made up its mind.

She turned in Fleamont’s hold, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. “I would be a Selwyn right now if Peleus hadn’t watched his sister break off her courtship for a Prewett.”

“You never told me that.”

Euphemia allowed Fleamont to hold her a bit more tightly. “I doubt your mother ever told your father about having nearly married a Macmillan.”

She hadn’t told Fleamont, if his start of surprise was any indication. Euphemia suspected Ellinor or Susan — or possibly both — had also nearly given up hope at some point. Every Potter matriarch she’d spoken to had. It was as much a tradition as only ever courting once, and one she had hoped to help James avoid.

“Boys need to realise these things on their own,” Fleamont said when she said as much. “It will do him no good for us to meddle. He will understand what Rosemary is to him when he is ready, and not a moment sooner.”

“It’ll be too late by then.”

It would be, no matter what Fleamont thought. Yes, she had been willing to accept Charlotte, but Rosemary was not her. She was not a pureblood witch with the confidence of knowing she belonged anywhere she wished to be — though Euphemia was determined to help her reach that point well before she became Marchioness of Stinchcombe. If she could only find a way of convincing her to stay long enough for James to realise he’d already long since chosen his wife.

She let her mind wander as Fleamont gently kissed down her shoulder, running his hands along her back to help soothe her magic. Peleus and his sisters had helped her remember her strength when Fleamont was too blind to see how he was hurting her. She would find a way to do the same for Rosemary.

If nothing else, she had no desire to waste time trying to mould another girl into the next Duchess of Linfred. Not when she’d already been spoilt by how quickly Rosemary had taken to her subtle lessons.

* * *

The morning James was due to arrive with the girl, Rosemary was woken early, roused by The Duchess shoving back her curtains and allowing painfully bright light to fill the room.

“Up quickly now, dear, we have much to do and little time in which to do it.”

Rosemary did her best not to groan as she wrapped the covers more securely around herself. “Duchess?”

“Please, dear, call me Mother.” The Duchess ignored the gaping Rosemary couldn’t hide quite quickly enough, instead calling for Tessie — who looked just as startled as Rosemary. “Into the bath with you, be sure to use everything I’ve set out. Don’t worry yourself about dressing, we will decide what will work best after breakfast.”

Rosemary was still trying to understand what was happening when she cautiously entered the sitting room of her rooms in the nursery only a few minutes later — having had simultaneously the fastest and most thorough bath of her life thanks to Tessie’s help. She felt a bit like she thought the snake that liked to sun itself on a rock in her courtyard might, after it had shed its skin and was shiny and vibrant.

It was impossible to curtsy in a dressing gown without being rude, as Rosemary quickly discovered when she went to try. She settled instead for a deep nod before sitting in the chair the Duchess gestured her to.

There was polite chit-chat as they ate, something that comforted Rosemary simply because of how familiar it was. She’d never shared a meal with the Duchess before, but it wasn’t that different from tea, really. Aside from the gentle encouragement to say ’Mother’ instead of ’Duchess’, Rosemary could almost pretend this was simply another of their weekly visits.

“I believe we both missed the point of the story of Marc and Ellinor,” the Du — Mother said when their plates had been cleared away. “It is not important that he married Ellinor. It is only important that he _would not have_ if she hadn’t accepted Susan. _Susan_ was who Marc had chosen, Marc had simply been too blind to notice.”

For a moment, Rosemary could only stare, trying to reconcile Mother’s words with James’ insistence that he had to marry a witch. Then she saw the mischievous sparkle in Mother’s eyes. The same one James had, that she’d always assumed he’d gotten from his dad. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt herself begin to smile. It was weak and a bit shaky from how little the muscles had been used over the past weeks, but it was more than she’d have been able to manage even a few minutes earlier.

“What do I have to do?”

* * *

James stopped dead when he saw Rosemary after stepping out of the floo. Stopped, stared, and felt himself harden beneath his robes as he took in the sight of her, nearly glowing from the light of the sun pouring through the window she was sitting in front of.

She was playing the piano he vaguely remembered having always been in the entry room, likely having gotten bored waiting for him. What, he couldn’t tell and didn’t try. Not when he was so thoroughly distracted by the Potter red dress she wore. A gown, really, with black and silver trim that reminded him of something else he didn’t have the blood flow to consider. He’d expected white, as she always wore, with a white ribbon in her hair instead of the many Potter red ones woven through her curls.

This was better. So much better that he found himself moving toward her without thought. She was wearing jewellery as well, earrings and a ring and a necklace and bracelet that had the look of delicately spun elf-work. All with rubies that made him think they must be from his Goldstein ancestor. Though he didn’t think wizards had worn jewellery outside their courtship sets then. Perhaps it had belonged to one of their daughters.

He reached her just as she finished playing, unaware both that he had moved and that his magic had reached for her until she’d spun around on the bench.

“Jamie!” She scrambled off the bench to throw her arms around him, laughing when he lifted her off her feet and spun her around. “I missed you!”

Merlin, he had missed her too. More than he had realised until she was warm and soft against him, humming slightly when he pulled her closer to feel just how brilliant it was to have her back in his arms where she belonged.

At least until he pulled away to nuzzle against her hair. When she blinked contentedly up at him for all too short a moment before stumbling away with wide eyes and a bright blush filling her face. James was too stunned — and too painfully aroused — to understand why until she’d stepped around him and dipped into a curtsy.

A low curtsy. Lower than she’d given Alice or Fabian. Nearly as low as she’d curtsy for Mother. Low and long, with her gaze directed toward the floor, as if —

As if she were a muggle curtsying to the likely future wife of a marquess. James swallowed back the sick feeling that filled his throat for no reason he could think of.

“Lily’s a muggleborn,” he said, gently urging Rosemary up well before she would have on her own, “you shake hands, don’t you?”

Unless the muggleborn had been brought to the ancestral home of a marquess with the intention of being presented as a possible wife, but Lily didn’t know that. And even if she did…James didn’t want Rosemary curtsying to her like that. Not if they were to be like Susan and Ellinor. He couldn’t face the idea of a lifetime of Rosemary holding herself back from being anything less than she had always been.

Which only made it worse when she kept her eyes lowered as she shook hands and introduced herself. He wondered if Father had spoken to her again because this wasn’t at all how he’d imagined her and Lily meeting.

He’d thought there’d be smiles and chattering, Rosemary filling the empty spaces with polite nonsense the way she did when she was nervous. Lily would laugh and join in, helping Rosemary feel at ease as she did with everyone at school. They’d get on brilliantly because they were both brilliant themselves, and James could watch the beginnings of a life filled with everything he could ever want.

Instead he found himself watching Rosemary bite her lip, her hands twisting together in a way that suggested she was fighting to not fuss with the folds of her gown.

“Mother said we could have lunch in the heir wing,” she said, her voice oddly hesitant. “I asked Tessie to set everything up in the solarium. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll go ask Hatty to send something to your room.”

James frowned as he reached out to tuck her against his side — frowning more at the stiff way she held herself. “What for? The solarium’s more than big enough to fit all three of us.”

“I thought —” Rosemary glanced at Lily from beneath her lashes. “You should see to Miss Evans. Miss Taylor and I can go somewhere else for summer, maybe near Alice or Remus. Alice said Harlech is wonderful this time of year, and I’ve not been to the seaside in ages.”

It was then that James understood. He was an idiot. He’d brought Lily to Linfred without so much as telling Rosemary to look up Marc and Susan in the family books. Of course she’d assumed she was being sent away. He was lucky she hadn’t hit him, really.

“We’re all having lunch in the solarium,” he said firmly, kissing the top of Rosemary’s head before holding his free hand out for Lily. He’d explain while they ate. This would all be cleared up before supper, then the girls could meet properly and James could begin what was sure to be one of the best summers of his life.

* * *

James flopped onto his bed without bothering to so much as take off his shoes that night. He wasn’t sure how a day could feel so _long_. Days with Rosemary never had before. They were always far too short, flying past so that it was time for him to go back to school well before he’d had his fill of her.

That day had been long. Long and tense and exhausting and James wasn’t sure he had the strength to repeat it every day for the rest of summer. He could only hope that it would get better as Lily and Rosemary got to know each other.

Not that that would solve the problem of Linfred refusing to allow Lily into the heir wing. Nor of James himself being expected to use the rooms in the family wing he’d not set foot in for nearly two years. It wouldn’t stop Sarah’s scowls or the way Wendy jumped back when Lily tried to give her a hug. It wouldn’t calm Fabian’s magic when Lily was closer than half-way across a room, wouldn’t make Mother stop being so bloody _proper_ and making Lily visibly uncomfortable.

Rosemary had surprisingly been the only part of the day that was somewhat bearable. He’d expected more hesitation after the awkward first introduction, thought that he’d have to gently coax her back into being herself the way he had before he’d known about the trouble with Rebecca. Instead she’d bitten her lip for a moment after he’d told the story of Marc and Susan and Ellinor, then straightened in her seat and attempted to draw Lily into polite conversation.

It hadn’t been particularly successful, but he couldn’t blame _her_ for that. Not when Lily kept bringing up quidditch or things that had happened at school. Things Rosemary obviously couldn’t contribute to, despite how easily she turned the conversation back to muggle books or music or the parts of Linfred she thought Lily would enjoy. At one point she’d tried discussing the weather, asking Lily if she could explain some of the simpler weather charms around the castle because James had been rubbish at explaining when she’d asked him.

Even James had been able to see that it was a desperate attempt. There was nothing Rosemary could say in a discussion of charms theory, even if Lily didn’t have strong enough magic to have never needed it.

And then, of course, they had to fill the hours between lunch and supper. Quidditch was obviously out of the question, despite Rosemary saying she wouldn’t mind reading while they played. Maybe later in the summer, she never had seen him on a broom and she’d probably enjoy at least a few laps around the pitch if they stayed low enough, but for the first day he’d wanted something they could all do. Going for a ride had seemed like a perfect idea.

How was he to know that Lily was allergic to horses? Especially when she hadn’t said anything, instead going on about how disappointed she’d been when her parents had made her quit her riding lessons. He’d been more concerned about the way she sulked when he kissed Rosemary after she won their race, until she’d come out of the changing rooms in the stables covered with a blotchy rash. It was a rash easily solved with a potion and prevented from ever happening again with another, but that was hardly helpful. Lily had complained, Rosemary had fretted, and James had been torn between which was was more in need of comfort. His instinct said Rosemary, but Lily’s glower when he tried to calm her kept him from doing more than whispering that she couldn’t have known while he stroked her hair.

Supper was nearly a dream compared to that, even with Sarah’s glares and Mother’s distance. He hadn’t expected Rosemary to be invited too, but was more than slightly grateful that she was. She certainly couldn’t have made things _worse_.

It had all started so innocently. Rosemary had smiled as Lily was introduced around, chatting quietly with Sarah and attempting to draw Wendy and Fabian out of the corner while James tried to show Mother and Father how well suited Lily was. It was perfect, really, he couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried. Rosemary already got on well enough with Sarah and Fabian, and if she was invited to a family supper it must mean Mother had decided she was appropriate enough company for Wendy too. James should have been able to focus entirely on Lily for the evening, guiding her through this first meeting with her future in-laws.

Instead, he found himself trying not to cringe every time she referred to ‘Mr’ or ‘Mrs’ Potter. Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea were Mr and Mrs Potter, he was sure he’d told Lily that before they’d left Hogwarts. Even if he hadn’t, Alice would have or McKinnon. There wasn’t a pureblood witch in Gryffindor who would allow a muggleborn to be introduced to his parents without checking to make sure she understood how to behave.

It wasn’t a _problem_ , exactly, Mother and Father weren’t the sorts of snobs who’d reject a muggleborn for not knowing pureblood customs, but it was uncomfortable. James had closed his eyes in relief when supper was ready.

Rosemary, wonderful Rosemary who James was sure could impress even Malfoy, had attempted to help as soon as she’d been able. “Her Grace always picks the most beautiful flowers, don’t you think?” she’d said, when Lily had complimented ’Mrs Potter’s’ centrepieces.

Mother’s “Please, dear, do call me Mother, or at least Duchess” would have made James unable to stop grinning under normal circumstances. As it was, Lily’s switching to ‘Mother’ for the rest of the evening only made him count the seconds until they could all escape to their rooms. Especially when Lily failed to notice Mother’s quiet sighs each time she said it.

He’d pulled away when Lily tried to tug him into her rooms. It disappointed her, obviously, but he didn’t think he was capable of giving her the experience she deserved for her first time. Not when he was already so thoroughly done in. All he’d wanted was to collapse onto his bed and sleep for the rest of summer.

Then Hatty had refused to take him to the heir suite. Had crossed her arms, quirked her brow, and told him it wasn’t proper to leave his guest in the family wing alone. That he hadn’t _planned_ to leave her in the family wing because he’d assumed she’d stay in the spare room in the heir suite hadn’t seemed to matter. Not to Hatty. Which was why he found himself tossing around on the bed he couldn’t remember finding nearly this uncomfortable when Mother knocked on his door.

“I just wanted to make sure you were settling in,” she said, brushing his hair back and kissing his forehead. “Hatty said you were having trouble sleeping. Is your bed not to your liking? You’re away so much, I’m afraid the elves may have forgotten how you like it.”

James shrugged. It was fine, he supposed. He was starting to suspect it wasn’t the bed that was the problem. Not after asking the castle to please fix it for him.

“Mother,” he tried instead, “do you like Lily?”

It was a silly question, as evidenced by Mother’s slightly admonishing look. He still had to ask. It was important. Mother was who would teach Lily the duties of being Duchess of Linfred, if they didn’t get on it would be a disaster.

“I haven’t an opinion of her one way or another,” she said — then cut across James’ attempt to ask why. “I don’t _know_ her, James. I would like to like her though, if it’s important to you.”

“It is, really important. Do you think you could ask Sarah and Wendy to be nicer to her? And maybe let her call you Duchess, like Rosemary?”

Mother’s refusal was not what James had been expecting. It was all he could do to not throw himself onto his bed and sulk like a child.

“I would if it were only a matter of making her comfortable,” Mother explained gently, “but it is not. She _must_ learn proper protocol first, if she is to ever have any hope of fulfilling her duties as Duchess of Linfred. Imagine if she had behaved the way she did tonight with the Duchess of Snowdonia, or even your Aunt Catriona.”

James did his best not to cringe. Aunt Cat — who was technically his third cousin once removed — was one of the least formal duchesses in Europe, but even she was unlikely to take well to a girl she’d just met being so familiar with her. He didn’t like to think about what Alice’s nan might think.

“Rosemary gets to call you Mother,” he said anyway, “it doesn’t seem fair.”

“Rosemary knows when to _not_ call me Mother. Lady Selwyn taught her well, she is more than capable of knowing how she is meant to behave.”

Mother hesitated then, a sad sort of smile on her face before she looked back at James. “It also matters little how she refers to me. Your wife will be expected to socialise amongst the other families and host events here at Linfred. Rosemary need only worry about how she behaves amongst family.”

The sick feeling was back in James’ throat. He did his best to push it aside. Mother was right, even if he’d somehow not considered that part before. Lily would be the one standing with him at Mother’s summer parties and the ball Alice’s nan held every spring. Rosemary would stay in their rooms. He couldn’t take them both, no matter how wrong the idea of her staying behind felt. It would be too dangerous, and an insult to Lily.

He hoped they at least had plenty of children. Enough that she was never lonely, even at the longer celebrations that sometimes lasted a week or more.

Mother kissed his head again, telling him goodnight while he was still filled with images of children with messy curls and aqua green eyes, so that she was at the door before he thought to ask another question she’d probably find silly.

“Mother,” he called, “do you like Rosemary better than Lily?”

Mother’s laugh was soft as she turned back around. “Why, of course I do. I’ve known her longer, after all, and she’s such a lovely girl. I am sure I will grow fond of Lily in time, if she is who _you_ like better.”

James lay awake well into the night, trying to determine what, exactly, Mother had meant by that.

* * *

Rosemary scrubbed at her face, doing her best to hide the remnants of tears as James raced into the heir suite after her, despite knowing he’d already seen. Mother had warned her he might do something like this. Had all but told her to expect it, in fact. She’d promised it wouldn’t mean anything, that Potters were terrible at understanding their own feelings and James was certain to pick her in the end.

That didn’t make it easier to see the girl curled on his chest when Hatty popped her into his room in the hopes of surprising him. Even if James had still been in the muggle clothes he’d worn to supper and the girl in pyjamas.

She forced herself to relax when James wrapped his arms around her. Forced herself to smile and shake her head when he tried to apologise. Mother had prepared her for this part too. She had to be understanding. Pleasant. Perfectly happy to accept sharing James with a witch, so that he would see that she wasn’t the one trying to make him choose. It had worked the day before, even she had been able to tell. She only had to pretend for a few more days. Mother didn’t think James would last more than a week when the girl was so obviously unwilling to put in the least bit of effort.

“It’s alright,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “She’s going to be your wife. You shouldn’t have left her there, she’s probably upset.”

James didn’t seem the least bit concerned about that as he crouched slightly to better be able to meet her eyes. It helped, a little.

“It’s _not_ alright, I never would have made you see that.” His face reddened, though how much she didn’t know because then he was pulling her back against his chest. “I didn’t even know she was there. I knew someone had come in at night, but I thought it was you.”

Rosemary pulled back to give him a sceptical look. The girl was at least three inches taller than her, not nearly as flat as a boy, and her hair was perfectly straight.

“I know,” James said with a wry smile. “I was _really_ tired last night, I couldn’t sleep for ages.”

“Promise?”

“I swear on my magic.”

That was good enough for Rosemary. Especially when it was followed by James giving her one of the long, slow, adoring kisses she loved so much. She let herself enjoy it while she could. Jamie might not have intended for her to see him being anything more than friendly with the girl, but he was barely more than friendly with her as well. She missed the kisses and touches and soft looks she’d been spoilt by before.

It was why she was understandably surprised when he asked if she’d mind going back to sleep.

“Shouldn’t you go make sure Miss Evans isn’t upset?”

James groaned as he rested his head on her shoulder. “ _Please_?” he whined. “I’m _so tired_.”

She clamped her hand over her mouth in the hopes of stifling her giggles slightly when he looked at her with the saddest puppy eyes she’d ever seen. Prat. He was so dramatic sometimes.

She still let him lead her into the heir room. He really did look tired, enough that she helped him out of his shirt and trousers when it looked like he might fall asleep in them again. She’d meant for him to put on a nightshirt, but he shook his head and tugged off her nightdress when she tried to get one, pulling her under the covers before she could protest.

Admittedly, she didn’t try very hard. Not with Jamie tugging her to lay across his chest, his fingers tangling in her hair as he fell asleep. She swallowed a yawn, snuggling herself closer against him. She should probably ask Tessie to magic them into pyjamas, but this was nice. And anyway, it didn’t really matter. Not when Linfred wouldn’t let the girl into the entire wing, let alone the bedroom. They could enjoy just a _short_ nap. She hadn’t slept very well either.

* * *

Lily was not a pureblood.

It was a more startling revelation than it should have been, given that James had known the entire time that she was a muggleborn. He just hadn’t realised the full implications of what that _meant_ , when Rosemary was well behaved enough to make more than a few of the girls in his year look common.

Now, listening to Lily complain about Mother’s attempts to teach her to curtsy, James found himself wondering if it would be more of a problem than he’d thought.

“It gets easier,” Wendy said quietly — then cringed away when Lily scowled at her.

Fabian gave James a look filled with meaning as he gently led Wendy to the brook nearby. Enough meaning that James couldn’t quite understand all of it, even if he thought he had the general idea. Fabian sometimes forgot not everyone could read his mind the way Gideon did.

He listened a bit longer as Lily ranted about sexist rules and outdated ideas, wishing Alice hadn’t insisted her grandmother had given her permission to invite _Rosemary_ to Snowdonia for the day, not anyone else.

Though it was probably better this way. Lily wasn’t ready to meet Alice’s nan. He wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever be ready, at this rate. Even if she probably was right about some things. Sarah insisted on bowing instead of curtsying, saying curtsies made her look like an uncoordinated stork.

“Do you think you could try a little harder?” he asked. “Please? My sister and her family will be here tomorrow. Father’s been trying to convince them to visit since before I was born, we’re all trying really hard to make a good impression.”

For a moment, he was sure Lily would refuse. He held his breath as she glared at him, her hair crackling with static.

Then she closed her eyes and sighed. Her hair fell back into place as she flopped down next to him.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “If it’s that important to you.”

James grinned. “It is,” he said, pulling her closer to kiss her check.

Lily turned her head at the last minute. Turned her head and pressed against his chest so that he found himself on the ground with her sprawled on top of him.

He pushed her away, glancing frantically around for Wendy until he saw that she and Fabian were facing the other direction. Thank Merlin.

“Not _here_ ,” he hissed, quickly flicking his wand over both of them to ensure they weren’t mussed. “Wendy’s right there!”

“So?” Lily asked, as though the answer weren’t obvious. “Her birthday’s coming up, isn’t it? That’s why Fabian’s here.”

“That’s not — it’s not her birthday _yet_. Mother would kill me if she saw something before she was ready.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “It was only a kiss. You kiss Rosemary all the time.”

“Wendy’s not afraid of Rosemary!”

James knew he’d said the wrong thing when Lily stared at him as though he’d slapped her. He watched as she ran off. He should go after her, he knew, but he couldn’t imagine what he could say to make her feel better. Wendy _wasn_ _’t_ afraid of Rosemary. She was shy, hesitant, the way she was around nearly everyone except Fabian, but she didn’t flinch the way she did around Lily.

He flopped onto the grass, wondering how his perfect summer had gotten so bloody complicated.

* * *

Having manners was awful sometimes. It was useful, Alice had whispered that even her closest cousins weren’t allowed to call her grandmother ‘Duchess’ when she gave Rosemary a hug before she went back to Linfred, but it was also awful. Rosemary tried to remind herself of the good parts as she gathered herself to knock on the girl’s door.

“May I come in?” she asked, holding up the tray she’d brought when the girl opened the door. “I have tea and Hatty’s special rainbow biscuits.”

She hadn’t expected to actually be let in. She’d only thought she’d try so she could honestly say she had. It was lucky that having manners also meant that she knew how to talk about nothing at all until the girl’s posture began to be a little bit less stiff.

“Jamie told me what he said about Wendy,” she said, once all that was left of the biscuits were crumbs. “It’s not you, really. Wendy’s just sensitive. Fabian says you have to be quiet and gentle with her, or she thinks you’re angry.”

“But I wasn’t!”

Rosemary forced herself not to flinch. If this was what the girl sounded like when she _wasn_ _’t_ angry, Rosemary would hate to see her when she was. It was amazing Wendy hadn’t accidentally apparated herself away.

“ _Wendy_ didn’t know that,” she said. “Even if you weren’t angry with her, she’s afraid of people speaking too loudly or coming up behind her or touching her without asking. Just…be more careful. She’s Jamie’s baby sister, he’s more protective of her than Sarah.”

The girl flopped onto her back on the sofa she’d been sitting on in a way that made Rosemary have to fight not to cringe. She couldn’t imagine how terribly the lessons with Mother must have gone if the girl still threw herself about like that.

“And Wendy’s terrified of me,” the girl sighed. “And I don’t understand half the rules Mrs Potter tried to teach me and the half I do understand are silly and Sarah hates me and…I should just go home right now.”

Rosemary bit her lip to keep from agreeing. It would be cruel, and probably only make the girl want to stay more.

And…she took a sip of her tea in the hopes of talking herself out of the entirely ridiculous idea that had entered her head. It didn’t work as well as she’d have liked.

She wanted to know that Jamie had picked _her_. That he’d decided _she_ was the better choice, not her manners or love of Linfred or ability to appreciate the pureblood traditions that felt so much like being allowed into a fairy tale.

She carefully set down her teacup. This was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but she had to know.

“Come on,” she said, pulling the girl up from the sofa. “Jamie’s family will be here tomorrow. We don’t have much time to get you ready.”

* * *

How Rosemary had done it, James would never know. He’d gone to bed wondering if maybe he’d made a mistake asking Lily to Linfred for the summer. Spent the day pacing his sitting room in the family wing, wondering what on earth she and Rosemary could be doing that he wasn’t allowed to see. And gone down to the entry hall to find a radiant witch in proper robes having a perfectly polite conversation with Mother.

He looked around, trying to find Rosemary so he could thank her. She wasn’t with Lily and Mother, but that was probably only to give them time to bond. Wasn’t with Fabian and Wendy, but he was honestly surprised Mother thought Wendy up to attending at all. He scanned the room for Sarah, certain Rosemary would be with her.

“She is in the nursery,” Father said, startling James out of his search.

“Wh —” James broke off as he realised exactly why. The same reason she would never join him to greet guests at a ball. This wasn’t a family supper, no matter that only family would be attending. He was wearing his most formal robes for a reason.

He stared at Lily for a moment, taking in how much more easily she met Mother’s cues. Not perfectly, not even as well as Sarah, but it was far more than he’d expected. More than Mother had expected, from the look on her face.

And Rosemary had done it. Had made Lily at least look the part of an aristocratic witch, when even Mother hadn’t managed. James set his shoulders and turned to go get her. She should be here. She had as much right as anyone. Lily would be his wife, but he fully planned on Rosemary being the mother of his children. He knew, somehow, that the castle would never accept Lily’s in quite the same way.

She was in the nursery, as Father had told him she would be, reading what looked like a book on Potter history. He plucked the book out of her hands, carefully marking the page so she wouldn’t shout at him.

She still protested, of course. Protests he silenced with kisses he was careful to keep light because they didn’t have much time. He called for Tessie, asking her to magic up something to match his robes. The end result was a gown similar to Lily’s robes, only with a white bodice and Potter red skirt instead of the bottle green he assumed Rosemary had picked to match Lily’s eyes. There was a subtle shimmer, something he thought might have to do with the stitching but didn’t think much more about because his sister would arrive any minute and Rosemary still didn’t look quite right.

“Where’s the jewellery you were wearing when I came home?”

Rosemary gave him an odd look, though he didn’t know why until she answered.

“Miss Evans is wearing it. Didn’t you notice?”

He hadn’t, but he’d worry about that later. For now, he closed his eyes, trying to picture what he wanted. There was something specific, something he knew he’d seen before, but couldn’t remember where.

He grabbed the Potter book when he realised, flipping through it until he found the picture he wanted. That was it exactly. He sent Hatty to the Potter vaults, asking her to bring as many pieces of Grandmother Susan and Grandfather Marc’s jewellery as she could find in the time they had.

It wasn’t much, only a few pieces for each of them. A necklace, ring, and bracelet all with Potter rubies for Rosemary, and matching ring, watch, and arm band for him. He’d have to ask Hatty to find the full sets later, but it would do for now.

Especially when she popped back in just before Tessie finished with Rosemary’s hair, snapping her fingers so that they were both wearing circlets obviously designed to go together. He pulled Rosemary close, giving her a kiss that wasn’t nearly as long as he’d like before offering his arm to escort her down to the entry hall.

“Are you sure?” she asked, hesitantly slipping her arm into his. “Miss Evans might not like it.”

“Positive.”

James positioned her hand more firmly where it belonged, tucking his elbow against his side as he escorted her out of the nursery. There was absolutely nothing he could imagine that would make this evening more perfect than having Rosemary with him. He was certain Lily would understand.

* * *

Less than two hours later, James found himself revising that opinion. He called Tessie to take Rosemary back to their rooms, whispering to her that he’d join her in a minute. He’d rather not wait that long, but he had to see Lily to her room too and he was unwilling to leave Rosemary in the same room as the twins without him.

He frowned when he felt Lily holding him back after he’d given her a hug goodnight.

“Where are you going?” she asked when he pushed her away.

“To make sure Rosemary’s alright, where else?”

He was almost certain the confusion on Lily’s face was matched by his own, but he couldn’t imagine what might have caused it. _Of course_ he was going to Rosemary. His relatives had all but called her a whore to her face, he couldn’t imagine why Lily wasn’t insisting on seeing her too. Alice would. Sarah was probably already in the heir suite, if she hadn’t done something to earn herself a scolding, like try to hex Grace. He’d be surprised if Wendy and Fabian didn’t stop in at some point.

Lily was looking at him as though he’d said something odd. Something absurd, like trying to fly a broom to the moon.

“Why wouldn’t she be? They weren’t exactly wrong.”

James took a step back, not entirely sure he was hearing what he thought he was. “What do you mean ‘they weren’t exactly wrong’? They called Rosemary a — a —”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring himself to call Rosemary anything less than perfect. It didn’t matter. Lily knew what he meant. She had to.

Even if nothing in her expression changed as she watched him. James found himself taking another step back without really thinking about it.

“Well,” Lily said slowly, “she is, isn’t she? Or a concubine, I guess. That’s what kings used to have, isn’t it? When they’d marry one woman, but still keep a bunch of others to sleep with?”

There was little James could do other than stare and shake his head. That was — he didn’t —

“How could you _think_ that?”

Merlin, after everything Rosemary had done to try to welcome Lily. She’d been nothing but helpful, even when she’d been curtsying too deeply and apologising for things she had no reason to be sorry about. It was all James could do to keep his magic still under his skin instead of rippling around him like it wanted to.

Lily was staring at him as well, her brow wrinkled in a way he might have found cute in another situation. She seemed to be as confused as he was, though he couldn’t imagine why.

“Jamie —”

“ _James_.”

Lily’s brow wrinkled further. “Rosemary calls you Jamie.”

James found himself somewhat unbalanced by that statement. It was true, of course, Rosemary had called him ‘Jamie’ nearly as long as they’d known each other. Somehow he’d never noticed that the diminutive he’d demanded everyone stop using when he was eight didn’t feel nearly as childish or grating coming from her.

The seconds ticked by in silence as James tried to think of a response. One that didn’t sound odd even in his head.

“James…what —” Lily frowned as she seemed to search for words. “What if I don’t like Rosemary?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, everyone loves Rosemary.”

Everyone except Nathan and Grace, it seemed, but that was only because they’d gotten confused. No one who knew Rosemary could ever not love her. She was perfect.

“She’s sweet,” Lily said. “It was lovely of her to help with your mum’s lessons. But…what if I sent her away one day?”

James’ magic flared bright enough to singe the carpets before he was able to get control of it. He fought against the urge to run to the heir suite. To grab Rosemary and make sure she was still safely in the castle where she belonged. She was. He didn’t need to check. Lily wasn’t even his intended yet. None of the elves would do more than bring her a cup of tea.

Lily’s expression was grim when he managed to see through the haze of his magic again. “You’re never going to give her up, are you? You really did mean you wanted her to be part of the family.”

“Of bloody course I did!”

Merlin, he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. The only reason to subject Rosemary to him having a wife was so they could stay together. If he wasn’t the last Potter, if he didn’t need an heir, if there were any other way he could keep her, he’d never consider putting her through that. She didn’t deserve it. Not his Rosemary.

He shook his head, a hollow laugh bubbling up from his chest as he realised it would never work. Not with Lily. Likely not with any witch. Even now, knowing how unlikely it was he would find a witch he liked better, he couldn’t bring himself to choose her.

She was brilliant. Clever, funny, certainly more than pretty enough. But she wasn’t Rosemary.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

An ugly sneer formed across Lily’s face as she huffed. “That’s it, then. You’re picking your little slag —”

If there was any way to stop the flare of magic that sent Lily flying across the room, James didn’t know what it was. He was only glad that her own magic reacted enough to cushion her fall, so that she was staring at him with more anger than fear as he called for an elf.

“Pack Miss Evans’ things and take her home,” he ordered. “Call as much help as you need, I want her out of Linfred in five minutes.”

He stormed out before his magic could do anything worse than it already had, his mind racing as he prepared himself for what he was about to do. He’d need to send about a million owls, but most of them would have to wait anyway. One to Aunt Cat, at least, just in case. Another would be reassuring, but he couldn’t think of who to send it to. Gideon and Fabian’s Uncle Perseus, maybe. He didn’t know that branch of the family as well as the others, but Perseus marrying a muggle was the only reason they weren’t more popular.

Most of all, he needed to talk to Father. He made for the library Father preferred, hoping the mess with the Campbells had been sorted enough for him to be there.

Instead he found Mother waiting for him with two unmistakable boxes as he rounded the corner.

“I had your father commission one of these in spring,” she said, smiling slightly when his magic collapsed back into him in sheer surprise, “the other when you wrote to tell us about Miss Evans.”

James took the Inkasia’s box without hesitation. Even if Mother had intended it for Evans, he could give Rosemary nothing less than platinum.

“It has the crest?” He didn’t want to wait, but he would if Mother hadn’t thought him serious enough for it.

Luckily, Mother smiled and nodded, waving her wand to summon what had to be the rest of the set. All of it, from the looks of the number of boxes. Not only the less extravagant version most often used by courting couples.

“You will need to explain to Rosemary what it means,” she said a bit apologetically. “I didn’t think you would be ready to court quite this soon. I had planned to ask Lady Selwyn to start those books in September.”

James knew he was staring in a way Mother would normally scold him for. He seemed to be doing that rather a lot tonight.

“You knew?”

Mother laughed, moving closer to kiss the top of his head. “James, dear, I am your mother. It is my _job_ to know. I also know you will not be going to the nursery to find Rosemary, no matter what your father tells me.”

James could no more stop the flush that filled his face than he could the magic that had shoved Evans. He did his best to not look nervous as he glanced at Mother.

“You don’t mind?” he asked. “Because I can’t sleep as well without her, really. It doesn’t feel right.”

Mother only hummed softly, so that for a terrifying moment James was sure she’d tell him they’d have to continue having separate rooms.

“I won’t tell the elves to keep you in your proper rooms, if you won’t tell your father I know you’re sharing. He does enjoy thinking he’s managed to keep something silly from me.”

It was James turn to laugh as he gave his mother a quick hug.

“Love you, Mum,” he said, before calling for Hatty. It was already well past the minute he’d promised Rosemary, and he still had to make a quick stop at Lady Selwyn’s rooms to ask about muggle courtship offers.

* * *

Rosemary was in bed when he finally made it to their room, curled in on herself in a way that immediately made him climb in with her and pull her tight against him.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

James held her closer at the unusually listless tone to her voice. She hadn’t sounded like that since Abelard. He’d hoped she’d never sound like that again.

“I’m sorry. I had to — I got a bit distracted.”

“Oh.”

He frowned at the way her voice quieted even further as she pulled away from him, before realising what she must have thought.

“Not —” he shook his head, tilting her chin up so she was looking at him. “Not like that. Never like that. I had to ask the elves to take Evans home.”

Amongst other things, but that alone seemed to surprise Rosemary enough. The rest could wait a few more moments until she understood what he meant.

The smile she gave him when she seemed to catch on was more hesitant than he’d have liked, but brilliant all the same. He simply had to pull her even closer and kiss her until she was all but liquid in his arms.

“I also had to pick up a present for you,” he said, keeping his voice soft as they nuzzled against each other. It took all of the little willpower he had left to slip off the bed, find the right Inkasia’s box, and kneel in front of her as Lady Selwyn had said muggles did when proposing.

Proposing engagement, not courtship, and diamonds were apparently traditional for muggle rings no matter who was giving them, but those were minor details. The only real differences between courting and getting engaged for a Potter were age and titles anyway, and the ring did have diamond chips around the ruby.

He suspected that had been intentional. The ring wasn’t the one that had been commissioned with the rest of the courtship set, Hatty having stopped him before he asked her to take him to Rosemary. This ring was a near replica of a traditional, platinum Potter courtship ring, only the diamonds setting it apart, and had once belonged to Susan. He wasn’t sure how Hatty had found it, and he didn’t entirely care. What mattered was that it was perfect for Rosemary. Perfect in a way that made her freeze, her eyes wide as she stared at him before nodding frantically and all but falling off the bed into his lap.

“That’s a yes then?” James laughed, pulling her as close against him as he thought would be comfortable while he was still in formal robes.

Rosemary’s scowl was playful and easily kissed away. He took full advantage of it, interspersing proper kisses with smaller ones scattered across her face, until they were both laughing too hard to continue. This was not at all the way he’d imagined asking a girl to court. There were no Potter Abraxans, no sleigh rides across London at night. He hadn’t even asked properly yet, though he supposed Rosemary didn’t know that.

It was still perfect. Still something he was loathe to interrupt long enough to ensure they both had at least their necklaces before they fell asleep. He’d have to pick at least one piece to hold off on until he could have the jewellers at Inkasia’s help him modify it, but Mother had already had the most traditional charms linked to Rosemary’s necklace.

Even if she hadn’t, Rosemary deserved it tonight. James didn’t want to wait a second longer than necessary to be able to call her his intended.

He grimaced when Rosemary shifted so that one of his robe clasps dug into a sensitive part of his thigh. Maybe a _few_ seconds longer wouldn’t be terrible. Just long enough for him to take off the bloody uncomfortable formal robes.

When that was done, when Rosemary was tugging him back into bed with her, then he reached for the box with her necklace in it. The box wrapped in what would be her cloak, once she was done unwrapping it.

“Potters use necklaces to show we’re courting,” he explained. “Silver and gold ones, usually, or all gold if we think it’s important. Platinum and gold is…special. Even more important. More than any other courtship. Like you.”

Rosemary stared at him, not yet halfway through unwrapping the box. “You picked the most important one?”

“Well,” James blushed slightly as he ran his hand through his hair, “Mother did, kind of. I was going to tell Father I wanted to court you and ask him to commission this set for you if I could, but Mother said she’d already asked him to in spring. I wouldn’t give it to you if I didn’t mean it though, Mother just knew before I did.”

Or she might have commissioned the gold set for Rosemary, but somehow James doubted it. He suspected she’d known he’d want platinum for her. He suspected a lot of things, actually, including that Mother didn’t actually dislike Evans as much as she’d seemed to.

He’d have to remember to thank her later. He doubted tonight could have ended in any other way, but he thought he might have done something he’d regret right now if Mother hadn’t been so cold that first night. Something Rosemary might not have been able to forgive him for.

The thought had him pulling her closer. He settled her across his chest, playing with her hair as he explained what courting meant and how it was different for Potters. He was especially careful to make sure she understood that accepting meant starting the first of the rituals that would end in their marriage, repeating himself so many times she grew exasperated with him before deciding he’d done well enough to not risk the ritual failing.

Then he took her hand in his, letting his magic flow through her to create his necklace. Twisting platinum and gold appeared perfectly around his neck, exactly as he’d hoped would happen.

Twisting platinum and gold with an etching he’d never seen before and James couldn’t keep himself from covering Rosemary in kisses when he noticed. Every last inch of her, until the only sound she could manage was a soft moan as she tugged him closer when his hips were flush against hers.

A new line. His perfect, beautiful Rosemary was the founder of a new line. It was all he could do to hold back long enough to feel her tightening around him, his vision once again filled with images of children with freckles and messy curls.

And green eyes. He desperately hoped every last one of them had her eyes.

It was hours before they fell asleep. They came close several times, before one of them would nuzzle or kiss or snuggle closer to the other and suddenly they were both wide awake. James didn’t entirely care. He doubted Rosemary did. They’d sleep later. Once they had celebrated their courtship and Rosemary’s new line just a little bit more.

* * *

Euphemia smiled, leaning back against Fleamont’s chest when he wrapped his arms around her as she watched James and Rosemary nuzzle against each other on the grounds. There’d be charms up in a moment, if James was anything like his father, but for now she enjoyed watching how happy her children were.

“You meddled,” Fleamont said quietly, his lips brushing just against her neck.

“Tell me I shouldn’t have.”

She could feel Fleamont’s smile as he shook his head. They both knew this was exactly the outcome James had wanted from the start. Euphemia had only helped him along a little.

“I am starting to believe you never had any intentions of courting Tertius Weasley.”

Euphemia could only laugh at that, taking a moment to put up charms of her own to ensure they weren’t disturbed. _Wizards_. If it had taken Fleamont this long to see that she’d never been the least bit interested in Terry — nor he in her — she couldn’t imagine how long it would take him to realise she knew where James and Rosemary slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I’m not _trying_ to make Lily a bitch. She just keeps turning out that way no matter what I do.


	5. Chasing Rosemary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > But then, if she were a witch he’d not have met her until September or Mother and Father might have adopted her like they had Sarah and Wendy and everything would be different.
> 
> One of the ways things might have gone if James and Rosemary had met at Hogwarts.

The first time James saw her was in the Great Hall. She was a mass of golden-red hair and bright eyes as she bit her lip and waited for the Hat to Sort her. He elbowed Sirius just after the call of “SLYTHERIN!”

“I want her first.”

Sirius gave him an odd look before glancing back at the girl and rolling his eyes. “She’s not even a proper ginger.”

“I don’t care.”

James ignored the rest of the Sorting — and Siri’s teasing about his ‘lowering standards’ — focusing instead on the girl now sitting between Siri’s little brother and a first year who had been Sorted before her. No, he’d never tried a Slytherin muggleborn before. Had, in fact, rarely been with Slytherin purebloods. But he’d also never seen a Slytherin witch who looked like the new firstie. Whose blush when she caught him staring was enough to make him harden beneath his robes. Who made his magic crackle around him when Siri’s brother leaned too close — enough that even Evans gave him a sharp look and asked what was wrong.

It would be difficult wooing a Slytherin muggleborn. He’d have to find excuses to be around her, likely find a Slytherin to help him learn her habits so he could be in the right places at the right times. Unless she struggled with Transfiguration or Defence, there wasn’t much reason for them to ever interact.

Luckily, James was a Potter. He would find a way, no matter how difficult it was.

* * *

It was barely a week into the term when he realised the girl might be more difficult to attract than he thought. She rounded on him after he transfigured Snape’s bag to grow bat wings and fly away from him — one of his smaller pranks, really. Even Alice didn’t bother complaining about it anymore.

That wasn’t true of the adorable ball of curly hair and rage who continued to scold him well after Snape had recaptured his bag and skulked off, until McGonagall had come out of her office and asked what the fuss was all about. He lost ten points for the prank, plus another five for tardiness, but what bothered him more was how the girl — whose name he discovered was Cohen — went from blushing whenever he looked in her direction to scowling and turning away.

“Give it up, mate,” Sirius said when James complained about Cohen continuing to ignore him. “Even Evans isn’t priggish enough to complain about harmless pranks. Have you seen Bernards in Hufflepuff? She’s a ginger. Looks like her mouth was made for sucking cock, too.”

James threw a pillow at Siri. He didn’t want Bernards. Or Atkins or Smythe-Wellsley or any of the other witches Sirius had been trying to get him to notice. He _wanted_ Cohen. He wasn’t going to give up after barely a fortnight just because she was cross with him for some reason.

* * *

He watched as wizards circled around Cohen, forcing down his magic every time one of them sat too close. She didn’t _seem_ to have a favourite, but neither did she seem to be flitting from wizard to wizard the way most pureblood witches did. She smiled often, laughed occasionally, but didn’t simper or flirt. Unfortunately, that told him nothing. She might not know the traditions, or she might be more reserved, the way Alice was. She could even be hoping to subtly make a promising match for herself, though James hoped not. It would be disappointing to have to give up his hopes of having her because she only wanted a title.

Her friendship with Black was not reassuring on that point. James nudged Sirius. “What’s your brother think of Cohen?”

“Hrm? Oh.” Siri shrugged and turned back to his breakfast. “He’s thinking of asking Malfoy if he’d take her for summer. Said she must be part-veela.”

There were shrieks as the table around James began to smoke. He had never considered that anyone might have her before he did. Not once. Not even when she started talking to Siri’s brother. No one had ever dared so much as flirt with a witch he’d made clear he was interested in. That Cohen was the first made fire rage around him.

Somewhere in the haze of his magic, James knew he was being irrational. He’d not even had her yet, had barely so much as spoken to her. It was likely that she was entirely unsuitable. Everyone else had been.

None of that changed the way his magic flared as he thought of all the hours he’d spent planning the perfect way to take her for the first time. At Christmas, ideally, or Easter if she continued to be difficult. Summer at the latest. He’d take her for an abraxan ride, show her one of the fairy groves Linfred was famous for. There would be a snowball fight or picnic before he showed her the libraries. Cohen seemed the sort to enjoy libraries. Most importantly, he’d planned to take his time. To tease and savour her until she was begging for him before showing her how much she had to look forward to if she accepted that she was his.

Those plans were ruined now. _Black_ had ruined them. James closed his eyes as his magic crackled and sizzled. There would be a way to fix this. To undo whatever twisted version of the traditions Black had introduced her to. Sirius was his best friend, but James had few hopes of his Slytherin, traditionalist brother having quite the same ideas of how to treat a muggleborn witch as Potters.

He opened his eyes to see Cohen staring at him. It was a distorted image, hazy and warped from behind his magic, but he could recognise her well enough. Enough to see how she leaned into Black, seeming to whisper something in his ear.

James’ last thought as his magic flashed even higher was that she looked even more perfect when she wasn’t scowling at him.

* * *

Alice was at his bedside when James woke. He blinked at her after he’d put on his glasses. He’d expected Remus. Maybe Siri or Peter, but definitely Remus.

“He’s shouting at Black,” Alice said before James could ask. “You’ve not been out long, he’ll probably be here soon. He said he needed to shout before he lost his nerve.”

“What for?”

Remus never shouted. Certainly not at Sirius. He barely ever raised his voice.

Alice eyed James for a moment. “What do you want with Cohen?”

“I…” James trailed off with a frown. He wanted to shag her, obviously, but Alice knew that. “I don’t know? I was going to invite her to Linfred. I thought she might like the libraries.”

“And now?”

“She still might like them?”

Alice stared at James another moment before nodding. “Do you still have your muggles? You’ll have to send them away if you do, Rosemary won’t like sharing.”

James blinked. He wasn’t sure what was more unbalancing, the idea that he’d ever ask his wife to share — especially with a muggle — or the fact that Alice was apparently on a first name basis with Cohen.

“I mean it,” Alice said. “Lily might have tried to share, but Rosemary won’t. She’ll not even consider it. I won’t help if you’ve not sent them away yet.”

“You’ll help?” James nearly leapt out of bed to hug Alice. She’d never helped with Evans, no matter how much he’d begged.

“ _Only_ if you’ve sent away your muggles.”

James waved dismissively. “They’re living in the London house with their governess. Sarah said it wasn’t fair to take away their education, but I’ve not had either of them since before first year.”

They were nice enough girls, he supposed. Attractive, certainly, and the second had been tighter than the tightest muggleborn he’d had at Hogwarts, but he’d tired of both quickly. It would be no great loss to send them away properly. Not if it meant having Cohen.

* * *

Alice had a rather different perspective than James on what would help him to woo Cohen. A perspective that started with _Snape_ , of all people.

“She likes Potions,” Alice explained. “She’s really good at it too, Severus wouldn’t talk to her if she wasn’t. If you stop picking on him —”

“I don’t pick on him!”

Alice lifted one eyebrow just slightly. Just enough that James flushed. Well. He might. A little. But only because Snape deserved it! He was a thoroughly unpleasant person, snide and snappish to everyone. And he stood entirely too close to Evans and Cohen.

“Fine,” he sighed, “but I can’t do anything about Sirius. You know what he’s like.”

Not hexing Snape was an irritating change, but it was easy enough once James noticed that Cohen seemed to glare at him slightly less. Not much, likely not enough to even be noticeable to anyone else, but he’d swear he nearly saw her smile at one of the pranks in the Great Hall. It was the closest to smiling at _him_ she’d ever done.

* * *

The next part of Alice’s plan involved waiting. At least for James. He would wait while she and McKinnon got to know Cohen better and tried to convince her that he’d changed enough to be worth considering. Trouble was, James had never been particularly good at waiting.

He waited through the rest of term, then through Christmas hols. He waited through snowball fights and writing to Fabian about Wendy and a scolding from Father over a prank he’d pulled to keep himself busy. He waited as Cohen laughed with Black. As her eyes lit up when talking to Snape. As he overheard her making plans to meet with the Goldsteins over the break.

Most importantly, he waited while tutoring Evans. While she slowly seemed to warm up to him. Until, finally, he couldn’t wait a second longer.

He had tried. He’d done what Alice had said and all it had gotten him was months of wanking until he thought he might go mad like muggles thought. When Evans looked up from the transfiguration equation they were studying and asked if he’d like to go to Hogsmeade with her, he hesitated only a moment. Evans had been who he’d thought perfect for him to begin with. He’d spent two years trying to get her attention, before Cohen had arrived and distracted him. James decided in that moment to let Black have Cohen if he wanted her. No witch could be worth this kind of wait.

Alice disapproved, of course. She scolded him for nearly an hour before he decided he’d had enough and walked away.

“You’re making a mistake,” she shouted after him. James ignored her. The only mistake had been letting himself think anyone could ever be better suited than Lily. She would be his wife. He’d been sure of it since the first moment he saw her.

At first, it seemed that he was right. Lily was brilliant, as talented as she was beautiful. He spent half his time being dragged into alcoves and empty classrooms, always leaving slightly dazed and thoroughly spent. He still couldn’t openly hex Snape, but what Lily didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And if Cohen returned to scowling at him, well, she was only a muggleborn anyway. It wasn’t as though her opinion mattered.

It was only after Easter that James started to acknowledge the whisper of disappointment that sometimes lingered in the back of his mind. Lily had gone home with him, had met his parents and Wendy. He’d taken her riding, shown her the fairy groves, raced her around the quidditch pitch. They’d spent quite a bit of time in his bed. And his shower. And his bath. And over his desk. And on the grounds. And in the libraries. And, only once because he was terrified of being caught, in the breakfast room before the rest of the family arrived. It should have been a perfect holiday.

Except there were little things James found it difficult to overlook. A tightness around Mother’s eyes. A slight tension in Wendy’s posture. Even an unsettling disinterest from Lily. Linfred was lovely, the grounds were stunning, but she spoke of it as though it were a museum or hotel. It hadn’t been the reaction he’d hoped his future wife would have to the estate she would one day help him oversee.

Still, he told himself it was only nerves. There had never been a muggleborn Duchess of Linfred, after all. He was allowed to be a bit worried about how she would adjust.

That was what he repeated to himself as Lily pulled him into an alcove shortly after they returned to Hogwarts. She was brilliant. Perfect as she knelt in front of him and undid his robe clasps. Even more perfect when she swallowed him down to the hilt so that his head knocked back against the stones.

They were going to be late for Transfiguration, but James couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when Lily was doing something with her tongue that made him throb with every bob of her head. He looked down just in time to see her pull off and stroke him until he’d covered her chest with his cum.

Also just in time to see the barest flash of pain as Cohen and one of her friends stumbled across them. James found himself suddenly more alert than he’d ever been after Lily was done with him. Alert and fumbling to tuck himself away while Cohen recovered from her obvious shock. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before he was once again properly dressed, but in that time Cohen’s entire demeanour changed.

“Well,” she sneered with a quick glance at his groin, “looks like the stories about your family aren’t true after all.”

She flounced away before James could think of anything to say in response. Leaving him wondering why the interaction had left him filled with remorse.

* * *

“She was waiting to see if you were serious.”

James didn’t look up from the book he was staring at. There wasn’t much point. Whatever Cohen _had_ been doing, she obviously wasn’t doing it anymore. He’d had the unpleasant experience of seeing her giggling as she came out of an alcove with Siri’s brother.

Alice pulled out the chair across from him anyway. “She’s fancied you since September, but you’re such an arse sometimes. She wanted to be sure you’d really changed.”

“Guess I hadn’t.”

“No. You hadn’t. But you still could.” Alice reached out to pull the book away from him. “She’s not going with Black. She told Marley he invited her on a picnic, but she thought it wasn’t fair when she’d only be trying to make you jealous.”

James looked up from studying the table grain to stare at Alice. He’d thought — he shoved down his magic with the reminder that it didn’t matter what he’d thought. Not when he’d been wrong.

“What do I have to do?”

Alice grimaced slightly. “First? You tell Lily.”

* * *

Telling Lily was easier than James had expected. It was excruciating, he’d spent a week in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey tried to find a way to lift the unfortunate combination of impotency, arousal, and denial charms Lily had cast at him, but there had been none of the loss or regret he’d been expecting. Only an odd sense of relief.

Lily was brilliant. Clever, as well as beautiful, and he’d enjoyed her sense of adventure. But, as James waited for his next instruction from Alice, he found himself wondering if maybe adventure wasn’t what he wanted.

He’d thought it was. Lily had been fun, after all. He never knew what new thing she’d want to try or prank she’d want to pull next. Every day had brought something he’d never have expected. The months with Lily had been some of the most enjoyable he could imagine.

They had also been some of the most exhausting. James watched as Lily held court at the centre of the Gryffindor table. It was easy to see why she was likely the most popular witch in school. She was the very definition of a social butterfly, constantly flitting from group to group and friend to friend. He hadn’t realised how much time he’d spent competing for her attention until he wasn’t doing it anymore.

He doubted he’d ever feel that way with Cohen. She was popular too, especially amongst the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, but she didn’t draw attention to herself the way Lily did. She sat with a small group of friends near the end of the Slytherin table, quietly chatting with each of them. If anyone was ever left out, James didn’t see it. She drew everyone around her into the conversation, always with a smile he was desperate to see turned on him.

There were other differences too, ones James found himself appreciating as he watched both of them. He didn’t have much else to do but watch. Alice had warned him that it would likely be a long time before Cohen was ready to consider him again and he knew better than to ignore her advice a second time. Not only did he think he was unlikely to have a third chance, Alice wouldn’t help him again even if he did.

So he watched, doing his best to at least be discreet about it. In the library, where Cohen and her group scowled at the noise of Lily’s smothered giggles as she talked with a table full of friends. On the grounds, where Lily and a group of friends played some sort of game while Cohen and Black had a conversation that sounded oddly like it might be about muggleborn rights. And at the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, where the look of horror on Cohen’s face was nearly enough to make being blindsided by a bludger worth it.

Lily and Cohen were very different witches. By the time he flopped onto his bed at Linfred that summer, James thought he probably knew it better than anyone. He only hoped those differences wouldn’t keep Cohen from giving him just one more chance.

* * *

James clapped politely as the last firstie was Sorted. He tried not to think about why Wendy hadn’t been amongst them. Mother and Father wouldn’t have sent her to Beauxbatons if it wasn’t the right choice for her. It still irritated his magic to not have his baby sister at Hogwarts where he could watch out for her. The only consolation was that she at least had Fabian with her.

He was unsurprised to look across the Hall and find Cohen chatting with the new Slytherin firsties. It seemed like the kind of thing she would do.

She’d spent part of the summer at Snowdonia, but he’d not known until after she’d left to visit McKinnon at Dunringall. It had taken dodging practice bludgers until he was gasping for air on the grass to keep him from trying to wrangle himself an invitation. The McKinnons were historically the Potters’ closest Scottish allies, it would have been easy to arrange. Alice had warned him off though. Cohen still hadn’t been ready.

She wasn’t ready by the end of September either, nor October. As they approached the end of November, James found himself wondering if he mightn’t have to become one of those muggle monks to convince Cohen he was serious this time.

Then the unthinkable happened. Cohen came up to him after the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match and asked if he’d like to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with her. James said yes without fully understanding what it meant. It wasn’t until nearly a week later that he realised he’d be spending hours in a room with _Slughorn_. He immediately wrote to Zonko’s for a vomit-inducing potion. Just in case.

He also wrote to Mother for a new set of dress robes and Father for something he might present to Cohen to wear for the party. Alice said she didn’t care much about pretty baubles, but James wasn’t taking any chances. He begged Hazel Prewett to ask her sister to slip the jewellery and a selection of flowers into Cohen’s room before the party — then agreed to a week of extra quidditch training when begging didn’t work.

The night of the party, James arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall ten minutes early. Ten minutes which quickly became the longest he could remember. He checked his pocket again for the potion. Checked another pocket for the box of uncommon ingredients Father insisted he give Slughorn. Looked at his watch. Did his best not to fuss with his hair. Ignored the advice of a portrait who claimed to be distantly related. Looked at his watch again. And saw that exactly forty-seven seconds had passed.

When Cohen finally came up from the dungeons (two minutes, thirty-six seconds early), James was unable to do more than stare. He’d known she’d be wearing ice blue dress robes. They were traditional for a single witch before Christmas, as were the bells and white ribbons woven in amongst her hair. He’d hoped she’d wear the necklace and earrings he’d sent her. They were sapphires rather than the Potter rubies he’d prefer, but someone would have told her the significance of wearing Potter gems. The flowers he’d been more certain about, despite having chosen exclusively varieties only grown at Linfred. Alice could wear Potter flowers without a concern. They only meant he was fond enough of her to offer.

What he hadn’t realised was that the combination of robes, jewels, and flowers would make him lightheaded. He wasn’t entirely sure which he wanted more: to spend the rest of the night staring at her or immediately take her up to his room and strip her down until the only thing she was wearing was a thoroughly sated expression. In the end, he did neither, instead gathering himself enough to mumble a compliment of some sort and offer his arm like a proper wizard.

Cohen took his arm, but held him back when he made to escort her to the party. James did his best not to panic.

“Are you very excited about the party?” Cohen asked.

The answer was ‘not in the slightest’, but James managed to bite that back. “I’m excited to spend the evening with you.”

Watching the light blush spread across Cohen’s cheeks, James suddenly understood why Sirius said things like that so often. It felt more than a little silly, but the result was well worth the trouble.

“Then…” Cohen bit her lip for a moment. “Would you mind if we left early? I’ve fever and fainting potions in my pocket, I only wanted to talk to Sir Hector first.”

James immediately turned back toward the main doors. “Sir Hector was one of my father’s tutors when he was a child, I’ll ask him to arrange a meeting. Did you know that some potions only work for certain families? Tonight is supposed to be the best night for at least seven years to pick primrose for my family’s protection potions. There’s a patch just outside, we could pick some and then go up to the top of one of the towers for a picnic.”

The primrose would only work in Potter potions if it was picked by a Potter, but there was a simple enough spell for that. And, as the evening continued, James found himself hoping that Cohen would be a Potter in time.

“Don’t suppose you’ll let me walk you to the common room like a proper wizard,” James said as he escorted Cohen back to the dungeons.

She laughed, a tinkling, musical laugh as she shook her head. “The prefects would never forgive me.”

“Even though I’m Slytherin’s heir?”

It wasn’t something he usually discussed so openly, but Cohen had told him there was a set of Potter training books in the Slytherin common room. She likely already knew.

That didn’t stop her from shaking her head again, this time as she came to a stop near the NEWT Potions lab. “I can’t show you _the_ common room, but…” A portion of the brick fell away as Cohen pressed her hand to it, opening to a moderately sized sitting room. “I can show you _my_ common room. Abby’s probably asleep by now, would you like to come in?”

James didn’t need asked twice. He didn’t need Alice’s voice in his head reminding him that he was _only_ to have a visit either, but he couldn’t do anything about that. Only push it aside enough to enjoy the chaste kiss Cohen allowed him to give her just before telling him he could call her Rosemary.

* * *

Rosemary didn’t go home with him for Christmas. It wasn’t surprising when they’d only been speaking a few weeks. Wasn’t even disappointing, really. Only frustrating. Frustrating and interminably long. There was little James was more grateful for than returning to Hogwarts where he’d taken to spending every breakfast and dinner with Rosemary.

Breakfast and dinner and snatches of time in between, with long hours on weekends spent doing nothing but kissing. James learnt that Rosemary had an older sister, that they’d been adopted by a pair of schoolteachers who happened to have the same surname. She played piano and violin and had the most stunning voice he’d ever heard. She was Jewish, something James didn’t entirely understand until Daniel Goldstein pulled him aside and gave him a book. 

“It’s important to her,” he’d said, “and it’ll be important to her parents. Eli and I’ll introduce you to Rabbi Isaacs if you’re serious.”

James had immediately agreed. That night, he’d written Father for more information about their Goldstein ancestor. It was all a bit odd, an entire new set of traditions and stories he’d never known about, but Rosemary lit up when he gave her a spellbook his ancestor had put together with all the useful little spells in Yiddish, Hebrew, and Aramaic his family had passed down through the centuries. There were other things he planned to give her as well, an entire new vault of them Hatty was adding to as she went through the heirloom vaults. Father had only allowed the book for now though, until James was certain she’d accept him.

He nearly was. If not for their unfortunately rocky start, he thought he would be already. But he’d been wrong about Evans and he was unwilling to risk being wrong again with something as important as this. So he did his best to be patient. He took Rosemary on picnics, studied with her in the library, occasionally pulled her into an alcove to kiss her breathless just because he could. He took his time, marvelling at how their lives seemed to be naturally falling into place together.

Well. Mostly naturally. James doubted he’d ever be _easy_ with Snape, nor Rosemary with Sirius. The one and only row they’d had since Slughorn’s party was over Siri charming Snape’s bag to chase him and whack him about the head. For an entire day, James had been sure that was the end of it. He’d hidden behind his bed-curtains and wallowed in the knowledge that he’d somehow managed to lose a perfect witch over a prank he hadn’t even pulled.

Then Rosemary had broken through his wards with a force that left him staring. For a moment, anyway, before he’d seen how she was trembling and realised the amount of magic she must have used to get into Gryffindor Tower, up to his dorm, and through wards not even Sirius and Remus together had managed to take down. James wasn’t sure he’d ever been more terrified than when he’d taken advantage of his relationship to the Founders to have them both transported directly to the hospital wing.

Rosemary had spent four days sleeping off the magical exhaustion. Four days in which James refused to be moved from where he’d curled around her. There hadn’t been a need for apologies when she woke. Had barely been need for words at all, only a few murmurs as they held each other with the unspoken understanding that they’d not let Snape and Siri come between them again.

Easter had been spent apart, Rosemary apologetically informing him that there was a Jewish holiday of some sort the elves were unlikely to be able to prepare properly for without supervision. She’d invited him to stay with her instead, but Father had wanted him home to go over some of the lessons he’d been neglecting. James had spent the holiday surprising Father with his focus after being scolded by Rosemary for putting off his work to spend time with her. She was right, the extra afternoon here and there hadn’t been worth having to be away from her for the entire holiday. He’d not make the same mistake again.

* * *

James arrived back at Hogwarts with exactly one goal in mind: convince Rosemary to spend the summer at Linfred. He had a platinum courtship set being made, one he planned to give her just as soon as he’d seen that she could be the Duchess of Linfred he hoped she’d be. She had to see Linfred first though. He needed to be sure she’d love it at least as much as Mother. She didn’t have to get on with Mother right away, she and Wendy could take all the time they needed getting used to each other, but he needed his wife to love Linfred. Needed her to want to manage it and raise their family within its wards. He hadn’t realised how important the estate was to him until he’d seen how little interest Lily had had in it.

He found himself worrying less about Rosemary’s reaction as the days passed. She truly was almost nothing at all like Lily. She was more like Caroline and Lydia than James would have ever expected of a muggleborn, and like Alice most of all. As he grew accustomed to spending more time at the Slytherin table, he realised the same could be said of every Slytherin muggleborn. Every last one followed pureblood etiquette and tradition, to the point where he often found himself forgetting the House had muggleborns at all.

“There are lessons,” Rosemary explained as they enjoyed a warm day by the lake. “Three times a week in first year, twice in second, and Daniel says we’ll only have one a week in third before stopping them entirely in fourth to give us time to prepare for OWLs. Abby and I are the only ones who didn’t spend last summer with one of the titled or ancient families. Her parents didn’t think it was appropriate and I missed mine too much to spend the entire summer away.”

James felt himself freeze with the realisation that his summer plans may not be as easy to put into place as he’d thought. He’d hoped being apart for Christmas and Easter would make Rosemary more interested in going home with him, the way they’d made him less inclined to be without her for a moment longer than necessary. He somehow hadn’t thought to take her parents into account other than to give Mother enough time to convince them.

“Has it been easier being away from home this year?” he asked — hopefully casually. There might be a way to arrange for regular visits if it mattered that much to her. Perhaps by arranging for a home in the village for her parents and sister. They couldn’t be too busy over summer, being schoolteachers, and the village was near enough the Forest of Dean to be enticing for a holiday. Not popular, there wasn’t so much as a guesthouse or B&B, but the pub often saw visitors passing through in the warmer months.

Rosemary smiled up at him, tilting her chin up for a kiss before responding. “Much. Visiting Alice and Marley were the only good parts of summer. My friends from muggle school all have new friends now and Becca was always busy. I spent most of the time in my room.”

James tugged Rosemary to lay across his chest. She’d not spend another summer wasting away in a muggle house. It wasn’t right, not with how talented she was. He’d have to write Father to arrange for Potions lessons in addition to the ones she’d have with Mother. There’d be time enough, she was already nearly as well prepared as any pureblood.

“Would you like to spend the hols with me this year? Goldstein’s mum has been helping my mother prepare the kitchens so you could visit and there’s always something to do at Linfred. You’d not be bored, even for a moment.”

James carefully did not look at Rosemary, instead continuing to play with her hair and watch the clouds pass. Still, he could feel her studying him. He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“As a muggleborn or…”

“As a _witch_.” He risked a glance down. “One I’d like to introduce to my parents and show around the estate.”

The hesitation that slowly transformed into a broad smile and nod as Rosemary pressed kisses to his face would one day be one of James’ favourite memories. For the moment, he simply enjoyed the way she blushed when he pulled her to him for the closest thing to a proper kiss he dared in a public space. It wasn’t everything he’d like, not even close, but there would be time enough for that at Linfred. Rosemary was still slightly breathless when he reluctantly pulled away.

“I, um—I should…” Rosemary ran her fingers lightly over his House crest before setting her shoulders and looking up at him. “I’ve not…I’ve never —”

She broke off with a huff and furious blush, blinking up at him as though begging him to understand. James blinked back for a moment before it hit him. All at once, with the force of a professionally charmed bludger.

“Rosemary,” he said slowly, doing his best not to get his hopes up, “have you not had your coming of age?”

Rosemary buried her face against his chest as she shook her head. “I wanted it to be special,” she mumbled, “not just one of the boys trying to help with my magic.”

It was all James could do to not give in to the urge to drag her properly into his lap and have her right there. He settled for a slightly deeper kiss than appropriate instead, smiling when Rosemary blinked up at him in a daze. If special was what she wanted, then special was what she would have.

“Siri said his brother…” James trailed off, suddenly remembering why Remus hadn’t been in the hospital wing that day. He’d have to remember to thank him. And come up with an appropriately nasty prank to get Sirius back for the days spent on horrible tasting replenishing draughts.

Rosemary drew his attention back to her with a full, tinkling laugh. “ _Reg_? That would have been _terrible_. He’s like a brother. He never even offered.”

James stifled the question of who _had_ offered. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered even if she had had a coming of age, not really. It was only a brilliant, entirely unearned bonus that he’d be able to give her the experience he’d wanted from the first time he’d seen her.

He pulled her to lay back on the grass with him, casting a general privacy charm when they were settled. “Special like the stories Rachel reads or do muggles have their own version?”

* * *

The courtship necklace in James’ pocket was supposed to be for later. After Rosemary’s birthday, when he’d planned to spend the entire day ensuring she had a perfect coming of age.

Now, watching her face light up with joy and awe as she watched the bowtruckles dance about Wilereykos, he knew he couldn’t wait. It was too obvious how much she already loved Linfred. Too easy to see her kneeling here with him, a platinum cloak wrapped about her shoulders. She _was_ the future Duchess of Linfred. He was certain in a way he hadn’t known he could be. The idea of making her wait, making her fall further in love with the castle without the security of knowing it was as much her home as his, made James’ magic want to rise around him.

He gently reached out to turn her face toward him. S’tara would want to see this, if not also the bowtruckles.

“I —” James flushed as his voice cracked for the first time in years. He’d had an entire speech planned out for this. He’d written it down and practised it and everything. Now he found himself entirely unable to remember it. Unable to remember words at all, really.

He pulled out the Inkasia’s box instead. It was unmistakable, especially wrapped in a platinum cloak. He watched as Rosemary stared at it a moment before throwing herself at him.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Your mum’ll have to talk to my parents and I don’t know what they’ll say or how long we’ll have to wait to get betrothed and they might —”

James pulled her into his lap as he kissed her. Mother would have to speak with her parents. There probably would be at least some delay with the betrothal. They might be angry, the way Bertie Macmillan’s fiancee’s parents were at first. James didn’t care. Those were all things they could sort out later. For now, all that mattered was Rosemary.

She looked perfect wearing his initials around her neck. As though the necklace had been designed exclusively for her. Maybe it had been. James didn’t know enough about courtship magic to be sure. All he knew was that it was lucky he’d only brought the one piece with him because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself when she was finally wearing Potter rubies.

It was difficult enough to control himself after she’d made his necklace. When he’d looked down at it and found the six pointed star entwined with a sword that was the first evidence of her new line.

A new line. He called Hatty to pop them back to his rooms. Rosemary’s birthday was still days away, but if a new line didn’t call for a day spent entirely wrapped in each other, he wasn’t sure what did.


End file.
